


Seven Days

by Luninarie



Series: If it can't burn [2]
Category: Forgotten Realms
Genre: Genderbending, Guenwhyvar, M/M, Shut up it's magic, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, mentions of trauma, questionable morality, temporary though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-01-25 14:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luninarie/pseuds/Luninarie
Summary: Still thriving in Waterdeep as mercenaries, Jarlaxle, Entreri and Drizzt accept a mission for a local lord. They must retrieve his stolen love letters. This new adventure may lead them to interesting magical jewelry and other shenanigans...This work is complete and will be updated on Tuesdays and Sundays.





	1. Number 13, Lame Man Street

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a sequel to "To Tame". It would be better to go read it if you have not, but here's the gist of it: Jarlaxle, Entreri and Drizzt are mercenary associates and they work in Waterdeep. Jarlaxle and Entreri's relationship is blossoming into a love one but Entreri has trouble dealing with his past and the traumas of his childhood.
> 
> As in "To Tame", I'm not overly concerned with respecting Salvatore's canon: the chronology is all over the place and I'm taking the characters at different stages of their development. My goal is mostly to have fun with my favorite characters.
> 
> I'd like to thank my readers and especially those who took the time to leave kuddos and/or write comments. Those are rays of sunshine in my life. Keep the kuddos and comments coming, I really really appreciate them.
> 
> Last but not the least, I'd like to give special thanks to the amazing dendrite_blues who took on their time to read and review this piece, helping me improve and being lovely and supportive. Go read their fanfics, it's amazing <3 !
> 
> ***
> 
> Alternate title for this chapter: Of Grappling Hooks and Harpichords

It may have been the rain. It may have been the cold. Or the slippery pavement. Or the simple fact that they had walked that same street thrice without finding this damn mansion. In any case, Drizzt had murderous cravings.

— I have seen this stable before, he remarked with false levity. Two hours ago.

The ranger was known to keep his calm in many circumstances, but he felt anger growing in him, like the water of a dam ready to give way.

— But it should be here! Jarlaxle complained.

He did not understand. He had checked the address several times in the last hour: 13, Lame Man Street. Theoretically, the building should have been there.

— What did the knight say again? Drizzt asked, gathering all his patience.

— He said: "It's a red brick building right next to the ruins of a burnt inn. Number 13, Lame Man Street."

Entreri was silent. He, too, must have been using all his calm and mental training not to scream in the middle of the empty street. Buried under his hood, he watched their surroundings. Something tickled his tongue, an annoying sensation. He shivered, as if an icy hand had brushed his spine up. An intuition.

— Jarlaxle, does your eye patch work? he asked.

The drow mercenary shifted said object to his left eye, then put it back in its place. A little frantically, he began to turn the rings on his fingers and examined the inside of his hat, flinching when drops of icy rain hit his bare head. Drizzt needed a moment, but he understood Entreri's hypothesis. He checked it in turn by unsheathing the top of his blades. His scimitars did not shine with their characteristic brilliance.

— A dead magic zone, the Calishite confirmed. Or worse, an unstable one. Let's be careful not to use spells or magic trinkets here, he added while looking at Jarlaxle insistently.

The Drow pouted. He did not like being deprived of his magic resources.

— That doesn’t help us find Lady Bellman's house, he remarked.

— But that gives us the beginning of an explanation, Entreri replied. Her mansion may be protected by standard spells that have turned sour due to instability. Making it inaccessible.

Both Drows nodded.

— I see several possibilities, Jarlaxle said then. We could go and come back later and hope for the dead magic zone to dissipate, or try to find the entrance door blind.

— Or we could give up, Drizzt proposed, and apologize to Lord Carmachel. That’d be the end of it.

Jarlaxle made a face. Entreri breathed a long sigh.

— Our dear captain wants to stay in the nobility’s good graces, he anticipated. Knowing him, he has a great ambitious plan to conquer the entire city, and this plan begins with Carmachel.

Jarlaxle laid a hand on his chest, as if outraged that he was accused of such machinations. His two companions raised their eyebrows as one, challenging Jarlaxle to deny. The Drow always had a second agenda, other goals. Sometimes he spoke of them to his friends, but most often he only revealed his plans when they had come to an end.

— As long as it does not end with ropes around our necks... Drizzt muttered.

With these words, he planted himself in front of number 11, a greyish carriage door, and put his hands on the wall. One step after another, he advanced to the theoretical location of the next house. He blinked and almost stumbled. He suddenly felt dizzy, nauseated. In the wet cold of Waterdeep spring, he found himself sweating.

He now stood in front of a ruined inn that was not there a few seconds ago. He turned to his companions to tell them of his discovery, but the street was deserted. Before panicking, Drizzt slid down the ivy-covered wall of the inn to catch his breath.

 

Entreri startled. One second ago, the young Drow was there, and now…

— Jarlaxle, Do'Urden has just vanished. What did you do?

— Me? I didn’t do anything! the Drow protested, scandalized.

In any case, the ranger had probably found the way to access number 13, penetrating the illusion that kept the building out of sight. The two mercenaries went for it and imitated the last gestures of the young Drow. For a few moments, destabilized by the illusion, they almost stumbled over their companion.

They looked up at the inn, and especially the brick building next to it. Lady Bellman's mansion.

 

According to the information collected by Jarlaxle, Lord Carmachel’s former mistress was not home that day. The lady had a few servants at her service, but the three mercenaries had felt they could avoid or neutralize them one way or another. The reports mentioned a lady companion, probably away as well, a cook, a squire, and another maid.

That morning, at break of day, the mercenaries’ goal was only to spot the house and return there at night. However, with the discovery of a dead magic zone, it was better to take advantage of the concealment of the house to seize the famous letters they had to recover.

The swordsmen immediately agreed and entered what was left of the inn. In view of the damage, it had been destroyed by the collapse of a chimney and the fire that had followed. All that was left was broken furniture and ashes scattered on the floor, which was largely burned up. A corpse of stairs should have allowed access to the first floor and high windows.

— Going upstairs, it would be easy to access Lady Bellman’s first floor, Jarlaxle estimated. Even though no one can see us from the street, I would rather avoid picking her front door’s lock or climbing up the facade in broad daylight.

— We do not know when the magic instability will disappear, Entreri added. Alright, how do you propose to access the first floor?

Jarlaxle pointed to his jacket’s pocket that contained his emblem of House Baenre, a trinket that allowed him to levitate.

— No magic, the assassin reminded him.

An offended silence answered him.

Drizzt heaved a long sigh. He rummaged through his knapsack and pulled out a small grapple on the end of a rope. He whirled it around and made it whistle before throwing it up the old staircase. A shock, then the grappling hook fell down with a metallic clatter.

Entreri and Jarlaxle applauded politely.

— Ah ah ah, Drizzt commented while preparing a second throw.

This time, his grapple got fixed in a solid-looking beam. The ranger tested the rope's resistance and fastening. He then began hoisting up to its anchor point. Arrived at the top, his arms burning, he examined the solid surfaces on which he could rest. Masonry stones protruded from the wall. They were chalky in appearance, no wider than an elf’s foot, but seemed solidly fixed to the stone wall. Drizzt began the tightrope walk that would allow him to reach the gaping hole that used to be a window.

Downstairs, Entreri had begun the ascent. His boots, wet from the rain, slid down the rope. When, in turn, he had to lean on the narrow stones, he felt his soles skidding and jeopardizing his balance. Straddling the window rail, Drizzt held out his hand to help him cross the final stretch. They found themselves side by side, their legs hanging in the air, watching Jarlaxle taking the same path, the grappling hook wrapped around his belt.

Once again in Drizzt's hands, the grapple whistled in the air.

— There, the window is open, Jarlaxle pointed out.

Drizzt nodded. He got it right the first time — Ah! — and fixed the hook at the edge of his target. The young Drow had to risk swinging in the space between the two buildings and then climbing to the window, a few feet to their left. Entreri anticipated his movements and helped him tip his legs over the ledge, holding him securely by the waist to keep him from tumbling down.

— Tell me when to let you go, Do'Urden, he said.

—… Now!

Drizzt took advantage of the momentum given by the assassin to land on a curb and avoid crashing into the brick wall. He then used the lumps and bumps of the bricks to climb. Through the window, he could now see. The room was empty. It was a kind of study. Apparently unused, the furniture was covered with large unbleached sheets to protect them from moisture and dust. Carmachel's letters would not be there. Drizztentered the room, opened the door, slowly checking the corridor. It was empty and unlit. The dark elf turned to the right. The wooden floor creaked ominously beneath his feet, and he cursed. He chose to walk on the middle boards which would protest the least and opened the next door.

There, the room also looked forsaken. Drizzt recognized the shape of a small harpsichord under a yellowed cloth. The only window looked directly onto the inn. Drizzt had to force the opening but managed to part the stiff wooden panels. From there, he threw the end of his rope to his companions. One after another, they crossed the gap and entered the mansion.

— _Warning_ , Drizzt signed, _the floor creaks_.

The others nodded, eyeing the small room.

— _If these rooms are unused_ , Jarlaxle said, _it must be the same for the upper floor. We’re bound to find the Lady’s quarters on the ground floor._

— _The servants must live upstairs_ , Artemis corrected with slow, assiduous gestures.

The agile movements required by the sign language always gave him a hard time. He felt very self-conscious and was afraid of making mistakes, but apparently both Drows understood because they nodded.

Drizzt took the lead. He checked again that the corridor was empty and then walked to the end of it. He found the staircase that led down and listened. The ground floor was silent. He signaled to his companions that he was going down and they came closer. Jarlaxle had armed his crossbow and Entreri had grabbed his vampiric dagger.

The stairs protested in long, plaintive moans. Drizzt clenched his teeth. If there were anyone down there, they would quickly notice intruders in the house. He arrived at the bottom of the stairs. A new corridor opened immediately to the left on a large dining room. The ranger bet that the letters were not hidden with the dishes and ventured further into the house.

Jarlaxle followed him, regretting bitterly that he could not use his levitation powers. All this damn house creaked continuously under their feet, like an excellent alarm system. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Artemis was signaling to him that he was going to search the dining room.

Drizzt and Jarlaxle were about to enter a new room when they heard a noise that made them stop moving and exchange a confused — and alarmed — look.

Harpsichord notes.


	2. Inside Bellman's House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title : Blame the obese cats

The two Drow froze, their eyes wide open, on the lookout for a new sound that would reveal if there was someone in the mansion.

— _A cat? A mouse on the harpsichord upstairs?_ Drizzt signed.

Jarlaxle shrugged. They waited still, motionless, but the house was silent. They finally entered the next room. The cold there was staggering, making them tighten their cloaks around their shoulders in vain. Silver puffs formed when they breathed. The room contained a bookcase, its shelves filled with austere volumes with blue covers and gold-lettered titles. Most were erased. The room also included a table with sculpted feet, covered with old yellow papers, and a dresser with drawers closed by small bronze locks.

Jarlaxle tested the drawers but could not open them. He ordered Drizzt to examine the scattered papers as he turned back to find Entreri. Under normal circumstances,Jarlaxle would have picked the locks on the dresser easily, but his tools were magically stored away. Best not to use artifacts accessing other dimensions until the uncertainty about the magic zone was cleared. Entreri would have a pin on him to force the dresser.

Going down the corridor towards the kitchen, Jarlaxle felt a cold current flow through him. He stopped short and wondered for a moment why Lord Carmachel had hurriedly left his mistress. A shiver. The Drow decided not to draw conclusions too fast and went on. Entreri found him at the entrance of the kitchen. The assassin was shaking his head; no luck in this part of the house. They returned to the library. There was still no one around.

Entreri did keep pick-pocket tools on him in all circumstances. He checked that the drawers were not trapped and opened them with expert movements. They were empty. The papers on the table were useless. The letters had to be elsewhere.

— They might be in Bellman's bedroom, Entreri murmured.

— _Or she keeps them on her_ , Jarlaxle said with a grimace of displeasure.

The mercenaries left the frozen library and continued their exploration of the house. They arrived in a boudoir; the antechamber to the mistress’s quarters. Despite an intensive search, they found nothing there but some jewelry and gold hidden under a removable wooden plank.

— What a pain, Jarlaxle groaned. Is it...

Footsteps hurtled down the stairs. As one, the swordsmen flattened themselves against the walls. Then nothing. Not a noise. What was going on in that house?

— _I’m going to check_ , Jarlaxle announced with rapidfire movements.

Being the closest to the door, he pushed it lightly, and looked through the opening. The corridor was empty. The Drow sincerely wished that it was an obese cat playing tricks on them, but his instinct offered him a much more frightening theory. He jumped. And sighed. It was just Drizzt's hand resting on his shoulder to usher him back inside.

— _Nothing_ , he signed, frowning.

— _I don’t like it_ , Artemis said with slow movements.

—  _Let's explore the upper floors_ , Jarlaxle insisted. _If we do not find anything, we’ll leave._

His associates exchanged a disgruntled look but followed him as he walked down the hallway again. They were progressing ever so slowly, even more cautious and silent than before, if that were possible. The cold of the library had spread to the entire mansion. Drizzt was used to low temperatures; he had spent decades in the north in the aptly-named Icewind Dale. But that coldness was not natural. And Drizzt was certain his two companions were also aware of it.

The stairs creaked once again under their feet as they went upstairs. Passing the music room and the abandoned study, they rushed into the smallest staircase that reached the second floor.

Each of the four doors in this part of the house was surmounted by a small engraved plaque bearing the servants’s names. Entreri quickly got rid of the locks, but the careful search of the various rooms did not help.

— Let’s go, he grumbled, scolding.

His arms were crossed over his chest. He was done with Jarlaxle’s whims. The dark elf surrendered with a shrug and turned back to go down.

A horrifying vision made him step back.

Waiting for them, a ghost floated above the landing. A woman, with a sliced throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is Sunday in my timezone ;)


	3. Better than a dragon, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always Jarlaxle's fault.

— A bloody ghost, Jarlaxle! Entreri swore between clenched teeth.

— ... Better than a dragon, right? the Drow asked in a small voice.

But Jarlaxle realized that it was probably worse: they had no magic weapon available to try to get rid of the specter. Who was this woman? Was it Lady Bellman herself? Or an undead creature haunting the house?

And most importantly, could she hurt them?

The ghost levitated about twenty inches above the ground. She seemed made of a transparent fabric, fluttering at the whim of a non-existent wind, painted in shades of gray. A big red splash on her throat was the only visible color. Large dark circles surrounded her blind eyes.

— Who are you? What are you doing here? the specter asked with a distorted voice, alternately gurgling and hissing.

Entreri glared at Jarlaxle, judging him responsible of the situation and demanding a solution. The Drow gulped.

— My lady, we are but three... gentlemen looking for lost letters. Lord Carmachel sends us.

Jarlaxle was acting with caution. It was dangerous to give one's name to a supernatural creature.

— Thieves…, the ghost whispered sinisterly.

Her condemnation was accompanied by the great squall of an icy wind from beyond the grave. Drizzt took a step back, trying to find a solution. The ghost was cuting off their access to the lower floors, but there was a window behind them. A dead-end. Without magic, they would break their bones in the fall. Even using the grappling hook was out of the question: the rope, as solid as it was, would not stand the weight of three adult men.

— It is Lady Bellman who refuses to give back Lord Carmachel his letters, Jarlaxle argued feebly.

The "Bellman" name disturbed the specter. Her face scrambled, and her long, intangible hair rippled around her face.

— Who are you my lady? Drizzt asked as gently as his nervousness — his fear — allowed him.

A long sigh of desolation answered him.

— I am Ankee. Bellman is my sister, the specter revealed. She killed me.

The companions exchanged frightened looks. Their employer had tasked them with a much more complicated mission than he had suggested. Collecting letters was one thing; to do so knowing that his former mistress was a murderer and that the ghost of her victim haunted her house was another. Jarlaxle frowned. He was going to demand a huge revaluation of their remuneration ... if they escaped alive.

A long silence settled in the corridor. Frost had appeared between the slats of the floor in long white lines. The ghost raised her head, a vengeful expression distorting her features.

— My sister hides her most precious belongings in a secret cache behind pots in the kitchen. When I discovered it she attacked me with a knife. The letters will be there. Take everything. There is evidences of other crimes, use them against her. Bring her to justice. This will be my revenge.

Jarlaxle was about to answer something but the ghost just shook with fury, as the temperature of the hallway fell so drastically that the wood crackled on all sides.

— If you do not prove her guilty, I will follow you, and I will haunt you till the end of your days.

The cold was such that it weighed like an ice coat on the companions’ shoulders. The skin of their faces burned them, and their bodies stiffened under the effect of the specter’s spell. Through his chattering teeth, almost on his knees with pain, Drizzt managed to shake his head and let go, trembling:

— At your service.

The ghost disappeared at those words, allowing the atmosphere to return to a bearable temperature. The frost that had formed on all surfaces began to melt and bead in long drops of water. Entreri was curled up on the floor, his head between his knees, moaning in pain. Both Drows were hardly in better shape. Drizzt managed to get closer to Jarlaxle and, hobbling, they held each other's arms to share some warmth. They joined Entreri and surrounded him with their embrace, the three of them shaking with painful chills.

— Jarlaxle, Entreri breathed between his teeth, as soon as I can move, I strangle you.

 

After long minutes, they were still feverishly cold, but they agreed they could not stay there longer. As time passed, the risk of Bellman returning home increased. They had to find her secret cache and leave as soon as possible. Drizzt recovered the fastest.

— I’m going downstairs, he said. Wait for me in the music room.

With sudden gestures and a little agitation, he ran down the stairs to the ground floor. His two companions managed to reach the first floor.

Downstairs, knowing what to look for, Drizzt actually had little trouble finding the cache, hidden behind a badly sealed slab. Bellman's secret stash was clever: the compartment was nearly inaccessible, far behind stacked copper pans. Drizzt reached it with his fingertips and grabbed its contents. Out of a small jute bag he found many sheets of paper, a ring adorned with a large ruby, and a necklace engraved with the name: "Blackstaff". Probably a magical object of great value; his owner would pay dearly to get it back. Drizzt frowned at the thought. That sounded very much like Jarlaxle.

He closed the bag, fixed it firmly on his back and left without further ado.

When the three mercenaries crossed the window’s threshold to leave once and for all the haunted brick house, they distinctly heard the harpsichord play by itself. The warning was clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always a treasure <3


	4. What is the worst case scenario?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Famous last words.

They returned to their apartment, still under the strain of their meeting with Ankee’s ghost, but relieved to be out of the dead magic zone. Drizzt hurriedly ran a hot bath and put a pot of water on the fire. Jarlaxle exceptionally used one of his elemental magic wands to revive the embers in the fireplace to help him.

— Entreri, in the water! Drizzt ordered without worrying about his reaction to such a command.

The assassin must have been aware of the dangers of hypothermia; he nodded and undressed without delay, throwing his clothes on the floor on his way to the bathroom. Jarlaxle got rid of his own clothes and huddled near the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket, his hat still perched on top of his head. Drizzt filled three cups of hot water and rum, and added lemon, cinnamon, and other spices he had collected on market days.

Jarlaxle welcomed the hot cup with a sigh of contentment. His eyes followed the young elf as he searched through their closet to take out a large fluffy towel and bring it to the bathroom. The ease of the ranger was stunning. Had he always evolved with such ease among his old enemies? What instinct drove him to take care of them in this way?

Jarlaxle had not realized that he had asked that last question out loud. Drizzt was looking at him with big, astonished eyes. It was hard to say whether his surprise came from the suddenness of the question or his lack of answers. He kept silent and just took a sip of his drink, probably burning his tongue.

— I’m not complaining, kitten, Jarlaxle said at last.

Drizzt gave a half smile, a precarious grimace of uncertainty and self-mockery. It was too early to give a name to the relationship that united Jarlaxle, Entreri, and him. Was it even necessary to describe the ties that had been forged between them, born of danger and necessity? Drizzt chose to take a page out of Entreri’s book.

— You’re of no use to me if you're sick and weak, he mumbled.

A delighted laugh answered him. Jarlaxle nodded, recognizing a way of not responding when he saw one. He just hoped that Drizzt would not take this exchange as an invitation to hold his tongue. Admittedly, the two mercenaries were not goodly heroes, ready to risk their lives to defend the weak and the helpless. Still, Jarlaxle hoped the young Drow could see Entreri and him as trustworthy, as more than business partners. That thought surprised him. Was he seeking approval from Drizzt Do'Urden? Or his kindness? And why? In memory of his late father? No, the Drow reasoned. He liked to receive Drizzt's friendship because the young Drow had finally become interesting. He was finallyaccepting the shadowy parts of his soul.

Jarlaxle wanted Drizzt to stay. He allowed himself a smile. He would wear him down, eventually... but for what purpose? he wondered for a moment before postponing the question. The answers would wait. Jarlaxle’s web in Waterdeep was just beginning to be woven.

 

That evening, around a mutton stew that finished warming up the three men, Jarlaxle revealed how he wanted to conclude the Carmachel business:

— I'm going to find Kimmuriel tonight. I’ll ask him to copy the letters and examine the jewels — the ring and the pendant. I want you to look at what we can get from the other papers.

— And then? Entreri growled.

— Drizzt will go to the courthouse tomorrow to explain what we know: the murder of Ankee by her sister, the theft of the Blackstaff pendant, and all the other charges we can accuse Bellman of. This way, we’ll fulfill our... agreement with Ankee. I'll go see Carmachel first and claim payment. Then I will ask Blackstaff for an audience and ask for a prize for the pendant, once I know more of its powers.

Drizzt grimaced with disapproval and Jarlaxle answered immediately:

— I’ll tell him that I saw the pendant at Bellman’s and that I can recover it for him, for a price.

— But that's not true, Drizzt retorted.

— And?

The ranger rolled his eyes but kept quiet. He had no way of stopping Jarlaxle's schemes, and technically could not criticize them within their association.

— It will allow us to make ourselves known to Blackstaff, Entreri acknowledged.

— And that man can’t be ignored in Waterdeep, Jarlaxle added. I’ll be going.

The Drow quickly gulped down the rest of his stew and strode out of the appartment with enthusiasm. On the table, the flamboyant mercenary had left the papers that had not been identified as Carmachel's letters. Drizzt and Entreri shared a look, then a sigh. They each grabbed a bundle and began to browse through the various parchments, establishing a stack system to sort them out. On one side they piled up papers containing secrets or confidences of the Waterdeep high society — information which could prove useful for future excursions at aristocratic parties. Those dealt with revelations about bastard children, adultery, but also a number of rumors that should be checked before they acquired any value. On the second pile were documents belonging to Lady Bellman: the deed to her house, promises to pay, letters from her mother, or even from her deceased sister. 

Finally, there were several pages that had been torn from a diary. Entreri glanced at them and quickly realized that they had to be from Ankee's hand. In those pages, the woman described her doubts about her sister's behavior, the deterioration of her health, her fear of being consumed by a poison that was weakening her. In a tragic way, her diary ended with the decision to confront her sister about her crimes, robberies, and affairs. Bellman had probably not appreciated that a family member came to put their nose in her business and had reacted in a radical way. What had she done with the corpse?

Entreri forced himself to ignore the question. It would be up to the city’s guards to investigate and perhaps offer peace to Ankee's tormented spirit.

 

Jarlaxle returned a few hours later with a greedy face, like a cat who had found a bowl of cream. He listened to the report of his partners on the papers and confirmed his order; Drizzt would put Bellman to justice the next day, armed with papers revealing her thefts and Ankee's diary. Then, obviously eager to share Kimmuriel's finds, Jarlaxle took Blackstaff's pendant and the ruby ring out of his magic pocket.

— The necklace is a protective charm, he explained. It's not the most powerful I've seen, but it still has value. I've thought about it, and I'm just going to give it back to Blackstaff.

Drizzt looked astonished at the turn of events. Why would Jarlaxle not try to take advantage of the situation, as he had claimed earlier?

— A gesture of good faith, the older Drow said with a wink.

— A gesture of commercial goodwill, Entreri corrected.

— It can be both at once, Jarlaxle retorted with his arms wide open and sparkling eyes.

His pomposity made the assassin smile in spite of himself. He shook his head, two-thirds exasperated, and the rest still charmed by the Drow’s exuberance.

— And the ring? Entreri asked.

— Kimmuriel guaranteed me it gave an _incredible_ amount of protection against all sorts of hexes: elemental spells, magic missiles, curses… You name it. It is the most powerful spell he has ever seen within such an object.

Entreri's eyes shone with greed. Jarlaxle continued:

— There is a price. Kimmuriel told me that its user will change appearances. The extent of the metamorphosis — or even its nature — remains to be discovered, but it lasts several days according to our mage.

The Drow placed the ring on the table between them.

— And if you remove the ring? Drizzt asked, puzzled.

— That is the problem: once activated, the spell can only be interrupted with a command word that we do not know of, or it will dissipate itself at the end of its duration.

A silence fell on the trio.

— Who wants to try? the young Drow asked.

— Are you offering? Entreri said with a ferocious smile.

— No, I have to report tomorrow to the courthouse. If you asked me to do it, it is because you count on the fact that the authorities will recognize me: the nice ranger from the North, with my dark skin and my violet eyes.

— He’s right, Jarlaxle laughed. Artemis? You seemed interested in the protective properties of the ring...

— I am, the assassin admitted. But I’m not sure it’s worth the risk of metamorphosis. 

— What is the worst case scenario? Drizzt asked.

— Transformed for several days into a Dwarf? A Halfling? Jarlaxle suggested, laughing.

— Into a Drow? Entreri said with a shiver of disgust.

Outraged, Jarlaxle slapped him on the shoulder. It was a testimony of their relationship that the assassin did not twist his wrist or break his fingers for that.

— An Illithid…, Drizzt whispered with horror.

His companions made a face. Mind flayers were octopus-headed horrors which haunted the three swordsmen’s nightmares.

— A dragon, Jarlaxle said with a mischievous expression.

Entreri choked. Silence fell again.

— There is only one way to know, the assassin finally said.

He grabbed the ring and put it on his finger.


	5. Do not panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep breath, Artemis!

He grabbed the ring and put it on his finger.

Instantly, he doubled over. His ears rang in a deafening vibration. His skin was too tight. His legs gave way. What was happening to him?

He fainted.

 

Artemis woke up in his bed, dizzy. His vision was blurry, as if his eyes were covered with a foggy veil. The familiar figure of Jarlaxle was recognizable next to him — especially his big purple hat. Farther, near the door, the other dark silhouette had to be Drizzt.

— Artemis, do not panic, Jarlaxle said warily.

That was worrying. Entreri tried to sit up on the bed, but his arms seemed ill suited to his body. He blinked several times, hoping to see more clearly. After a few seconds, his vision gained colors and contours. He looked at his hands. Normal. Small? Normal. No, small. He could not tell.

— What happened ? he asked.

His voice surprised him, husky but more high-pitched than usual. He cleared his throat, examining Jarlaxle's face. What he saw there worried him even more than the state of confusion he was waking up in. The dark elf seemed stunned. It was a rare sight. Do'Urden, at the end of the room, was also staring at him, as though he was shocked by what he saw.

The young Drow ended up answering:

— You lost consciousness after putting the ring on. We brought you here. You were unconscious for an hour or so.

Entreri nodded. An hour was not so bad. He closed his eyes, still struggling to see clearly, and squinting was starting to give him a serious headache. He ran his hand over the back of his neck and felt his heart stop. A mass of hair he should not have. He swallowed.

— A mirror ? he asked.

His voice. Realization dawned on him.

Unconsciously or not, his other hand came to rest on his chest and felt two lumps that should not have been there. The Drow began talking at the same time but stopped immediatly when Entreri heaved a long trembling sigh. Do not panic, indeed. While ten thousand questions jostled in his mind, he did his best to rationalize the situation. The ring trapped him in a body that was not quite his in exchange for incredible magical protection. It was not so bad. But what if he remained prisoner of the spell? No, everything magic did, magic could undo. No spell was eternal, that one would dissipate in a few days. Kimmuriel had said so, right?

— You’re still Artemis Entreri, Do’Urden said softly, you’re still human.

Entreri nodded again slowly. He would not panic but the gentle voice the Drow was using was proof of the situation’s dire seriousness. However, Do’Urden was right. Entreri still had two legs, two arms, a head, a ...

No. _That_ , he did not have any more. In spite of himself, a shrilly groan escaped his throat. He did panic.

— No no, _khal'abbil_ , it will be fine! Jarlaxle blurted.

Entreri opened his eyes. Jarlaxle’s face seemed torn between wonder and distress. The assassin blinked, unaccustomed to seeing his companion as open and vulnerable. This more than anything else allowed him to take a breath he had unconsciously blocked. He let out a new trembling sigh.

— Help me stand up, he asked.

The Drow nodded. He moved to allow Entreri to swing his legs to the side of the bed. The assassin was still dressed, but his leather pants were slightly too long now, and his feet were smaller, narrower, a little more delicate perhaps.

He transferred his weight to his legs. Jarlaxle grabbed his arm to help him stabilize himself. Standing, Artemis realized that he actually was smaller. Jarlaxle and he used to be the same size, now the Drow seemed to tower over him.

Artemis walked slowly to the large mirror Jarlaxle used all the time and stopped in front of his reflection. It was like meeting the twin sister he never had. He still recognized some of his features, but they were adapted to a female morphology. But even though his appearance had changed, he still was Artemis Entreri. Apart from the problems of modified proportions, he could take possession of this new body. With breasts. And other unfamiliar things. His breath shook but he forced himself not to panic. His shoulders quivered in the mirror.

There were his expressions, his face, but softer — a reminiscence of what he had been as a teenager maybe. There was his hair, just longer than usual, almost lazily curling at the end. Yes, obviously, he now had breasts under his shirt. He hesitated between removing the garment and ignoring the whole situation until the spell dissipated.

— Entreri? asked Do'Urden, no doubt anxious to see him motionless in front of the mirror.

— Leave me alone, both of you, he answered firmly.

— Are you sure…, Jarlaxle began.

— Get out, he cut in a sharper tone.

The dark elves flew like frightened bird, which was quite the surprise. Entreri had expected more resistance from Jarlaxle. Was he afraid of a unmanageable nervous breakdown?

Entreri took a deep breath. It was now or never. He undressed, almost closing his eyes, and when he was naked, he summoned up the courage to examine his body. For a woman, he thought distractedly, he was not so bad. As a man, the assassin was short, with sinewy muscles, and angular features. As a woman, he was exactly the same, but his waist was more pronounced, his hips wider. His thighs were thinner, his legs slenderer. As for breats, those were not a young woman’s, but they seemed rather firm, and of average size. He touched them, getting used to the soft and smooth texture, to the new shape. He made a few movements with his arms and torso and realized that he would have to get used to their presence, to train with them and understand his new balance.

And his sex. The usual paraphernalia was gone. No, Entreri reasoned. Not gone. Transformed. Which was probably the reason for the sudden pain he had felt when putting on the ring. Entreri hesitated but he finally touched _that_ area too, spreading his legs, almost mapping. There he felt unusual muscles, unknown nerve endings.

A flash crossed his mind. What about menstruation? Sexual intercourse? Pain?

He forced himself to calm. His sexuality was not a feverish one, to say the least, that was not going to change under the pretext that his body was now a woman’s. What would change, however, was the relationship that others would have to his appearance. Social rules were different for women. The assassin would be underestimated. People would try to seduce him. He would be considered fragile. Maybe it had already begun with Jarlaxle and Do'Urden.

The spell had taken liberties for the transformation, Entreri noted. It was not perfectly logical that his hair was longer. He had hair on his pubis, under his armpits, but just a peach fuzz on his arms and legs. Would he go to the trouble of shaving?

He shook his head. Definitely not a priority.

No, the hardest challenge would be the change in his relationships and how people viewed him. Jarlaxle often told him that he was a handsome man, but he paid little attention to it. Now, he was a woman — a rather classy, beautiful one. That would bring him trouble. Entreri began to get dressed and tightened his belt to keep his pants up. He took a white scarf in the closet — Jarlaxle’s probably — and tied it around his bust to hold his breasts, without compressing them. Adjusting the makeshift underwear took several tries but eventually it worked out with a safety pin from his pickpocket equipment. He put on his shirt and shook his hair to pass it over his collar.

Artemis Entreri would not be vanquished by a new body. He would get used to it, seize it, transcend it, as he had done in the past. He was still one of the greatest warriors of the kingdoms. He would just need training to find out what had changed in his abilities and movements. A few days to go. He could do it.

He left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuddos and comments make me so happy, please consider leaving one of those :)


	6. That may not be a good idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elusive and vague sexy times ahead, be warned. I cannot write smut to save my life.

— Seven days! he moaned.

His voice hesitated dangerously between horror and fury.

Kimmuriel nodded, eyes oddly downcast. Jarlaxle had summoned the mage immediately after Entreri had lost consciousness. Kimmuriel had never hidden his hatred of the human, but strangely, he had not commented on the effect of the ring. He had just re-examined him when asked to.

Entreri heaved a new sigh, removing his hand from Kimmuriel's cold and dry ones. He did his best to breathe more quietly and not give in to the panic that intermittently resurfaced. He was stuck in a woman's body and he would deal with it.

Kimmuriel took his leave, his face closed and sullen, unable to provide much more help.

Night had fallen and after a grueling day full of high-running emotions, the three mercenaries needed to rest. Drizzt seemed reluctant to leave the living room and let Entreri alone — especially with a fidgety Jarlaxle. The assassin noticed it quickly and barked out:

— Do'Urden, I'm not made of crystal. Scram!

The young Drow shook his head with the start of a smile. He disappeared into the attic with one last bow. The assassin wanted to call him back just to shout at him some more. He did not need anyone worrying about him and his fears were proving true. People were behaving differently now. Jarlaxle for instance seemed unstable. He was restless, patrolling near the window without looking at the street outside.

— Jarlaxle, Entreri sighed.

The Drow realized that his excitement was not going to contribute to the calm and rest that Entreri probably needed during a trial that was far from over.

— Sorry, _khal'abbil_. I... I'm going to...

— Let’s go to sleep, Entreri said firmly.

The stop by the bathroom to relieve himself was undoubtedly a new exercise in the control of his pelvic muscles, but his body seemed to know what it was doing. Once that was taken care of, Entreri went to the bedroom and took off his clothes and the band around his torso. Then, he slipped between the sheets. The next moment, he passed out more than he fell asleep. His slumber was so deep that he did not hear Jarlaxle enter the room. 

The Drow stared for a long moment at his sleeping friend and at his strangely familiar but yet new face. He admired Artemis: his control of his emotions, his courage in the face of an unexpected and new situation. Certainly, to change into a woman was not a miracle in the realms. In Waterdeep, all genders intermingled with much more fluidity and ease than in the strict matriarchal society of Menzoberranzan. But for a man like Entreri, born on the surface, in such perfect control of his body, this change was a profound upheaval.

Jarlaxle undressed and hesitated.

He lay down beside Artemis and hoped not to be stabbed to death in the morning.

 

When Artemis woke up, everything was back to normal. At least it was during the ten seconds necessary to remember all the ruckus of the day before. He grunted and opened his eyes in the darkness. What if he stayed in bed for the next seven days? That way he would not get into trouble. With a lazy gesture, he pushed aside the long locks of hair that had fallen on his face during the night and felt the presence of a hot body against his. Jarlaxle.

The Drow began to move in turn, snuggling against him.

The situation was not new, but Artemis was not quite himself. He gently stroked the elf’s arm across his belly. His skin felt incredibly soft. Artemis breathed through his nose as a strange pressure was slowly hugging his lower abdomen. The sensation was not unpleasant. A sigh. Artemis realized what was happening to him and rolled his eyes.

By all the gods he was getting excited. He held back an expletive. What had he thought the day before? Sexuality was supposed to be out of the question. Two solutions. Escape from the bed and never think about it or...

— Hello Artemis, Jarlaxle sighed.

The Drow opened an eye that widened comically when the memory of the previous day settled in. The elf remained motionless, curled up against the assassin who had become a woman.

— Do you want me to leave? Jarlaxle asked softly.

Had his voice always been so deep and warm? Artemis was still wondering about it when he noticed he had not stopped his slow caresses on Jarlaxle's skin.

— Maybe not, the elf whispered with a husky laugh.

The pressure in Artemis’s belly became a heat that spread through his legs. He had trouble thinking straight. Escaping was still a solution. But then again…

— May I kiss you? Jarlaxle asked tentatively.

Artemis nodded in silence. The elf hoisted himself on his elbow to lean over him and kissed him with studied slowness. I like kissing him, the assassin thought, because it's him. I know him, his faults, his intrigues, his lies, and his darkness.

They parted slowly.

— That may not be a good idea, Jarlaxle murmured regretfully.

— No one will believe me when I say I heard you say that, Artemis complained.

The Drow laughed hoarsely and run his long, thin fingers through his hair.

— I will not do anything without your consent, _khal'abbil_. In this body as in any other.

The tone was serious and had the accents of a promise. The assassin sighed, enjoying the caress in his hair, and feeling a little guilty about it. Indeed, trying anything in this new body was probably not a good idea. What if he reacted violently to a simple gesture? What if he lost control? And what if his emotions — his memories — overwhelmed him? Artemis would never forgive himself if Jarlaxle saw him that way, stripped of his defenses, hurt and weak.

But, Artemis thought, this body is not the same. It bore no marks, it had not been wounded. The scars were only in his mind. Could he not ignore them and enjoy this stolen moment with Jarlaxle? Could he not do what he was otherwise unable to do?

And Jarlaxle would not hurt him, right? Not willingly anyway.

How to be sure?

— Your mind is far away, _khal'abbil_ , Jarlaxle mused with a bitter-sweet smile.

Artemis met his glowing eyes in the dim light. He watched the subtle changes on his face, his frowning eyebrows, the curve of his lips, the set of his jaw. It was impossible to know but one could rely on facts: Jarlaxle was there with him, seeking his presence — however chaste — every night, counting on him to watch over his sleep. Jarlaxle wanted him by his side, had always wanted him by his side all these years. Not always for the right reasons, but things had changed.

The Drow's face drew near, and they exchanged a new kiss. Their hands traveled on the skin of their arms, their necks, in careful and cautious movements. Artemis’s hips were arching on their own, it seemed.

— You’re shaking, Jarlaxle said worriedly.

Artemis drew his next words from deep within himself, as if he was unearthing sounds and meaning in the recesses of his soul, unrooting them from a dark and cold soil.

— I... I'm scared, he said in a breath so low that only an elf ear could hear him.

— We can stop...

— No, he cut abruptly. I want to. It's... I'm...

— Damaged, Jarlaxle provided.

— It’s too much to ask of you, Entreri replied, closing his eyes, struggling for every syllable that crossed the threshold of his lips.

— Artemis, for you... Jarlaxle began, but he paused as if he could not continue.

They exchanged a long look. Many unspoken words passed between them, many fears, and many truths they had never been able to admit and would probably never say out loud. Entreri nodded, forcing his hands down the elf’s sides, concentrating on the heavy pulsating heat inside of him.

— Like that, with... with that body, he whispered, it may be possible.

Jarlaxle nodded haltingly, making each of his gestures obvious and predictible. His patience and gentleness were infinite. They kept looking at each other, always touching, never forgetting that they were there with each other and no one else. Their breaths got hot and jerky. Their world shrank down to the other’s skin and the searing heat between them. Entreri was reeling but Jarlaxle took his time. The fear never went away, but it left room for desire and a fragile unknown pleasure.

In their unhurried dance, Jarlaxle was the guide and he tried not to lose himself in the monstrous force of the emotions that swirled in him. He blessed his centuries of experience but they had not prepared him for this terrible vulnerability that stripped him of all his masks. When Artemis's grey eyes found his, they were like two daggers rummaging through his flesh, like a wound that made him humble and robbed him of all his confidence and certainties.

— By the Nine Hells... Entreri moaned.

His voice and his surrender were like a spark that spurred Jarlaxle by surprise. The elf reined in a strangled cry. He wanted to hear that moan again, to offer this gift to his friend. His movements became more ardent, more burning.

Entreri gave in with a scream, like a rope stretched to the extreme which snaps in the air. Jarlaxle could only hear his own heartbeat, overpowering anything else. With a shudder, he finally grunted in pleasure and collapsed on his lover’s body. He now had only one desire: to close his eyes and rest, bathed in the warmth of Artemis’s presence, but he had to know.

— _Khal'abbil_...?

Entreri was trembling and breathing in great gusts of air.

— Artemis, say something, the Drow pleaded.

That got him an incredulous laugh from the assassin. Talking was not possible immediately, but that reaction reassured Jarlaxle who felt an immense smile creep up his face.

— I, Jarlaxle of House Baenre, took Artemis Entreri’s maidenhood, he realized with an amused stupor.

A cushion violently hit his head.

He only laughed harder.


	7. And some alluring underwear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the lovely comments and appreciated kuddos, it means a lot <3

Later that day, Drizzt went to the courthouse, accompanied by Entreri. The young Drow had been surprised that the assassin was offering him his company, but he was not complaining. Ankee's ghost had charged all three of them with bringing her sister to justice after all. Jarlaxle had gone by himself to claim their salary from Carmachel and to obtain an audience with Blackstaff.

On their way, the ranger observed the assassin by his side as discreetly as he could. Entreri had obviously stolen from Jarlaxle's wardrobe a black silk shirt better adapted to his new morphology. Drizzt was sure he had heard Jarlaxle talk of a special order from the tailor, and he was anxious to see the Calishite's reaction to that. Even in this body, Entreri was still Entreri, and how would he react to a dress or a skirt?

— Stop staring, Do'Urden, Entreri growled.

Drizzt laughed, feeling silly and a little ashamed. He bowed slightly to apologize.

— You know, Drizzt said after a few minutes of silent walking through a marketplace, you can call me Drizzt.

Entreri's grey eyes narrowed in suspicion.

— "Do’Urden", the ranger explained, is sometimes a painful reminder of my past.

Entreri thought about that remark. He had never paid attention to the fact that using the Drow's last name was a reference to his family, his past, and the underworld from which he had escaped. Drizzt never denied the fact that he was a Drow, but this acceptance did not go much further.

— Do you prefer "Entreri" or "Artemis"? Drizzt asked after a moment.

The asssassin had better things to do than argue about the use of names and surnames, but maybe it was time to simplify things, to allow Do'Ur... Drizzt to be a little more than a simple business partner. A comrade, maybe. They lived under the same roof, shared their meals, and worked together. Entreri guessed he could make the effort. Moreover, he had a favor to ask.

— As you wish, he ended up saying without hostility. As long as I'm... transformed, "Artemis" might be better. My last name carries a reputation, that of an assassin who has many enemies.

Drizzt nodded. They crossed several alleys bordered with houses with balconies overflowed with fragrant flowers. The sun warmed the pavements still damp from a recent rain. The smell of wet soil covered the usual traces of horses and rotten vegetable.

— I need to train, Entreri finally said. I have to get used to this body and be ready if anything happens.

— I can help you, Drizzt offered, understanding the underlying demand.

He had taught his late wife, he would be able to give advice to the assassin in order to master his new body and its modified balance.

Entreri nodded. It was not a sign of gratitude. He would thank the Drow only if the results were satisfying.

They arrived at the courthouse. The name of Drizzt Do'Urden, his recognizable dark skin and purple eyes, opened gates faster than any passport. They produced Bellman's letters, the description of the medallion that was being returned to his rightful owner, and they recounted their supernatural encounter with Ankee's ghost. At first, their incredible story only brought suspicion and contempt, but as the papers were authenticated, they were given a more attentive ear. Drizzt signed his statement. Nobody paid attention to the pretty woman with the grey eyes and long black hair that accompanied him. Some clerics stared, but Entreri's angry glare promptly convinced them to mind their own business.

The two mercenaries left the courthouse and walked back by mutual agreement to their apartment.

— Jarlaxle told me we were expected at a lord's house tomorrow night, Drizzt said. He’s a winemaker who invited us during our mission for Lord Philbon.

Entreri groaned in displeasure.

— It’s not the best time, he growled. Go without me.

— On the contrary, I think it can be an interesting experience for you. A challenge even.

Frowning, Entreri was about to rebuff the young Drow, but the elf continued:

— Your state is certainly… unusual, but it is a resource, an additional disguise. This is an opportunity to tame and test it. You would be the mysterious fourth member of our company, the one nobody knows, the perfect spy.

— You’re implying that I will reuse the ring in the future.

— And why not? Drizzt asked candidly. You just have to learn to fight in this new configuration. In exchange, you get immunity to magic, another body, and new possibilities. Also, correct me if I'm wrong, you do not seem to suffer a lot from being a woman.

Despite himself, Entreri thought back to Jarlaxle, to the embrace they had shared. A foolish tryst. A moment stolen from the ghosts of his past. The assassin was not sure he could repeat a similar experience in his usual body.

— You’re blushing, Drizzt said lightly.

— Another word, elf, and I cut out your tongue.

Drizzt bit his lip, failing to hold an amused smile.

 

They returned to their apartment to report to Jarlaxle and get news from him about Carmachel and Blackstaff. When they arrived, they crossed paths with the tailor, Master Redlast, coming down the stairs. He had just brought the latest order and would be happy to have feedback on it. He scarcely stumbled when he saw Entreri in his new appearance. Jarlaxle must have warned him.

The new order was an entire wardrobe for Artemis, it seemed. The assassin heaved a long sigh, his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest.

— I’m torn between killing you, Jarlaxle, burning all this nonsense to the ground, or both.

His jaded tone made the threat all the more striking, but Jarlaxle had become an expert in a very specific skill: ignoring contradictions.

— _Khal'abbil_ , I can not let you come and go looking frumpy. We have an appointment we must honor tomorrow, and perhaps others will come before the end of the spell. You have a beautiful woman's body, and you'll keep it for another six days. Let’s make it an asset.

They glared daggers at each other.

Drizzt did not wait for a decision to be made. He passed between his two companions and quickly unpacked the first bundle, pulling out a long black bodice and skirt with lace details, like delicate cobwebs. He whistled between his teeth.

— It has a certain Drow flavour to it, Jarlaxle. You could not resist?

Artemis scowled.

— I’m not a doll for you to play with, he rasped.

— That’s not what this is about! Jarlaxle retorted. Most of it are clothes identical to those you already own, recreated with your new measurements as a constraint. I allowed myself to ask for some typically feminine outfits to deal with all situations.

The mercenary was speaking in a cautious voice and a soothing tone, a strategy that could prove a winning one. Entreri could always hear and understand logical explanations.

— And some alluring underwear, Drizzt added as an afterthought, waving a silk bra.

The older Drow glared at him as Entreri's voice rang out with rage:

— JARLAXLE!

Drizzt had never heard Entreri scream like that. Jarlaxle had a gift.

— It’s not my fault, I asked Redlast for a _complete_ female wardrobe, he answered quickly and lightly.

Entreri clenched his fists and left to lock himself in the bedroom, his face closed. He wanted to scream, to have his normal body back, to stop this charade. He was pacing, avoiding at all costs to cross his reflection in the mirror. Why did Jarlaxle ridicule him that way? Why was he still trying to shape him into something else, to make him someone he was not?

A few knocks on the door.

— To the abyss with you, Jarlaxle, Entreri whispered.

— Take your sword and dagger, Drizzt's voice answered.

Entreri closed his eyes. Yes. Hitting a Drow, any Drow, would be a good way to let off steam and defeat old demons.

 

Technically, the roof of the building that housed both the tailor's workshop and the apartment belonged to no one. The three mercenaries had made it their own training ground. Jarlaxle had found mannequins and wooden blocks, dummy weapons and all kinds of training accessories for them to work with.

When Entreri found Drizzt on the roof, he did not ask questions. He unsheathed his weapons and rushed on his old nemesis with a rage increased and fueled by frustration. The two swordsmen circled around each other, exchanging blows without any restraint. The young Drow had understood that he was going to cash in all the anger and violence of the assassin. So he resisted.

And when he saw an opening, he retaliated.

Entreri quickly realized that his first wave of rage would not suffice. Trouble was coming his way. He was an exceptional fighter but he definitely did not have the same magnitude in his movements. He was feeling unbalanced even if he maintained the illusion of perfect control.

After a quick exchange of blows, he felt the flat of Drizzt's scimitar slapping against his flank. A warning. He pulled his elbows closer to his body, dealing with a shorter reach than usual. The next slap came against the back of his thigh — an extremely dangerous opening he had left to his adversary.

— Accept being closer to the ground! the Drow shouted over the clashing of steel.

Entreri crouched like a cat. It was not only his arms that were shorter; his whole body had changed in proportion. He was smaller and he had to use this change as a benefit. By making better use of his anchoring on the ground, he could gain momentum and speed.

— Use your legs! Drizzt ordered above the rattling claws of their clanging blades.

Once again, the dark elf was right. Entreri had so far only seen the changes from a rather negative angle. His woman's body provided him with stronger and more supple legs. He did his best to adapt to this new advantage, taking into account the fluidity of his pelvis that allowed him to move in an almost serpentine grace.

The Drow made him lose his balance by using an improvised feint that abused his rotation speed. He felt himself fall backwards but a firm hand held him between his shoulder blades.

— Good work! Drizzt praised.

Entreri scowled.

— No, in a real fight, I would have been wounded, or killed, he said with renewed anger directed against himself.

— Be a bit more realistic and respect my skills, Drizzt retorted fiercely. Respect yours. In a real fight, you would have already hurt or killed your opponent.

The assassin was only partly convinced.

— It’s your first fight under this appearance, the elf went on. You knew how to adapt almost instantly. Now, you have to make more use of your assets. Your legs. Let's test them.

The Drow drew Entreri into exercises of flexibility and extremely slow movements, forcing him to become aware of his strengths and the new distribution of his musculature. He helped him reposition his ankles, tilt his pelvis, arching his back to change his points of support and the momentum he could draw from them.

After three hours of work, the assassin admitted that they could stop. He was exhausted, drained of his strength but in a good way. He met his companion's gaze, and read admiration in his violet eyes. He was surprised to find pride in it too, and it gave him an unexpected pleasure. He refrained himself from thinking too much and simply said:

— Thank you Drizzt.

The Drow gave him a simple nod.

— Next step, Entreri said, is to do better in a skirt.

That got him an incredulous laugh from the young elf. A friendly silence settled between them.

— Are you going to set fire to Jarlaxle's clothes? Drizzt asked after a moment.

— Absolutely.


	8. The New Girl In Town

The following evening, three figures wandered through the cobbled streets of downtown Waterdeep. Jarlaxle wore his new darker and more discreet colors. Drizzt, astonishingly, was all dressed in black, with details in shades of iridescent purple. By his side, Entreri struggled with his loose sleeves and the flounces of his long bottle green dress. Jarlaxle had tried to convince him to wear high-heeled shoes, but one murderous look from the human had deterred him from insisting.

Out of revenge, Entreri had grabbed Drizzt's arm to play his new character: he was the latest member of Jarlaxle's band of mercenaries, a dangerous and beautiful woman, a dagger in a velvet sheath.

— What's our goal tonight, oh captain? Drizzt asked.

— We are invited for a wine tasting at Master Mazkebi’s house. He’s a winemaker and a trader. He wants to call on us to recover a stolen cargo and he has already identified where the goods should be hidden away.

— In the city?

— Out in the forest, Jarlaxle answered. Two or three days of travel eastbound. So you do not have much to do tonight, except for listening and staying alert.

— Be beautiful and be quiet... At your command, captain!

They arrived at a large villa with high windows from which lights and merry sounds escaped. In the entrance hall of the splendid residence, the walls displayed the owner's coat of arms: bunches of grapes on a sky blue background. Every piece of furniture, every tapestry exuded richness and opulence. From the large and brightly lit hall, the three mercenaries were led by servants dressed in blue into a sizable reception room with chandeliers sparkling with a thousand candles. A bald man announced in a stentorian voice "Master Jarlaxle Bregan and Company" when they entered.

Soon, between two flutes of a delicious sparkling wine, Master Mazkebi himself joined his guests. Larger than life, with an artful moustache, the dark-haired man made an impressive entrance. His voice boomed across all conversations. He greeted everyone kindly and smiled happily as he recognized the mercenaries. Indeed, Drizzt and Jarlaxle had to be the only dark elves that could be decently frequented in Waterdeep, and it was hard to miss them.

— Master Bregan! I'm glad you could come. We have a lot to discuss. But I do not know your companions yet...

Jarlaxle dove into a respectful bow, taking off his hat. Its long feathers swept the air.

— Master Mazkebi, here are my associates: Drizzt Do'Urden and…

The Drow glanced sideways. They had not decided on Artemis's female identity yet! The assassin intervened without losing the rhythm, lowering his chin but raising ardent and seductive eyes:

— Sadhara Do'Urden, said Entreri. His wife.

Drizzt choked on his wine but one well-placed knock from Jarlaxle’s elbow made him quickly regain his composure. The two Drow were still in shock, but they had to keep up appearances in front of their future employer.

— Sadhara…, Mazkebi wondered. What a pretty name. Southern, isn’t it?

— Alzhedo, from Calimshan, Artemis replied with a lovely smile.

— It's charming, the winemaker exclaimed. Master Do'Urden, you're a lucky elf!

Drizzt nodded.

— Women like her are hard to come by, he confirmed, squeezing Entreri's waist against his side.

The two "spouses" exchanged a fake lovestruck glance which turned into a glimmer of defiance as soon as their host had diverted his attention. The winemaker and Jarlaxle began a more advanced discussion of the terms of their future contract, detailing the technicalities and logistics for the return of the stolen cargo.

Drizzt and Artemis walked away under the guise of admiring the paintings on the walls. The vast majority of them represented sunny vineyards and idyllic landscapes.

— My wife, huh? Drizzt said.

— An unmarried woman of my age is a bad sign in these circles. I’m perfecting my disguise, as you suggested, dear husband.

The dark elf stifled an incredulous laugh, shaking his head.

— And why me and not Jarlaxle? he asked.

Artemis played his role. With a gesture that would seem tender to an audience, he replaced some stray braids behind the Drow's pointed ear.

— Jarlaxle was seen in the arms of a man on his last public appearance, he said.

— It was late, I doubt anyone saw…

— Someone may have seen us, Artemis cut. I’m not willing to take chances. And Jarlaxle needs a reputation as respectable as possible. If he decides to pretend to be a seducer, it will be his decision, not mine.

Drizzt nodded.

— And if somebody thinks you look like another Calishite of our acquaintance?

— Artemis Entreri is my cousin, the assassin replied, shrugging.

Their conversation was interrupted by the crystalline sound of a knife being gently struck against a glass. Their host had obviously finished his discussion with Jarlaxle and was now addressing all his guests:

— Ladies, I invite you to join Lady Mazkebi in the parlor for the rest of the festivities. Gentlemen, please follow me, I have received tobacco from Vaasa that will leave you speechless!

Artemis grabbed Drizzt's arm forcefully.

— What in the Nine Hells is going on? he whispered urgently.

— Women and men seem to be separated during the evening, Drizzt theorized. Do not panic. It's just another part of tonight's challenge.

Artemis glared at him.

— My dear wife, Drizzt said, holding his shoulders firmly, you'll be fine.

— I hate you.

— I love you too.

Artemis kissed Drizzt's lips, biting him ferociously.

 

The parlor was a flood of swirling colors and heady perfumes. 

— My lady, your dress is simply beautiful, a red-cheeked woman said to Entreri.

That must have been Lady Mazkebi herself. The winemake's wife wore an impressive yellow dress with petticoats spinning at every step. She was excessively thin, almost disappearing in the ruffle of her clothes.

— ... Thank you, Artemis ended up saying with a clumsy little curtsey.

— You must give me the address of your seamstress!

— I will.

He would not. The mercenaries did not need to bring more attention than necessary to their living quarters.

— You are an angel! Sit down, sit down, my servants will bring us refreshments.

Seemingly satisfied with the superficial exchange, Lady Mazkebi went off to talk in the same way with the other wives dismissed to the parlor. Listening to the conversations, Artemis understood that it was quite classic to separate women and men for a part of the evening. Everyone would meet again later to dance. This tradition tended to disappear but remained anchored in the manners of the local nobility.

The assassin did not recognize anyone. For long minutes he sat in a damask chair, slowly sipping his glass of sparkling wine. With a distracted gesture, he replaced the folds of his green dress several times, still astonished at having agreed to wear it. He had to admit a significant advantage to the ample garment: it was easy to conceal his dagger— and other useful tools — underneath. Now, Artemis only feared to be bored to death while waiting to be reunited with the two dark elves.

The hostess’s delighted shout convinced him that it would not be so.

— Lady Bellman! I am so happy to see you!

Artemis raised his head in a slow gesture, not betraying his astonishment. A woman stood on the parlor’s threshold, carelessly abandoning her cloak, her arms raised in a very theatrical distress. She had pale blond curly hair and looked like a porcelain doll, cultivating innocence and fragility.

She had slaughtered her sister, that pretty doll.

— Lady Mazkebi! I almost did not come, she lamented. A misunderstanding with the city guard...

— Nothing serious, I hope ?

— No, a mean little joker accuses me of ignominious things. But it's settled, I put my henchman on the case, it's probably already taken care of.

— Good! the winemaker’s wife rejoiced.

Servants came in, bringing canapés, iced fancies, and new drinks on silver trays. Artemis took advantage of the hustle and bustle to remove his ring. He tried to hide it in a pocket, found out that his silly dress did not have any, and slipped the ring into his bra.

He was thinking at full speed. With the courthouse deposition, Bellman had only the name of her accuser: Drizzt Do'Urden. Artemis was certain that no address had been specified. Best for Bellman not to learn that the source of her troubles was invited to the same party she was. Luckily, only Master Mazkebi himself would have heard Drizzt's last name... But the young Drow was a well-known figure on the coast. Artemis had to warn his companions.

He got up and slipped to a young maid who was patiently waiting near a window.

— Can you find my husband and tell him that it is urgent that I see him? Artemis asked as politely as he could.

— Is my lady feeling unwell?

The assassin blinked. Obviously. If a woman wanted to see her husband, that had to be the reason. The logic was ... questionable, but he could use it.

— Yes I…

He let his voice die, putting a hand on his belly with an alarmed look.

— Oh very well my lady, how can I recognize your husband?

— He’s a dark elf, the one with braided hair, Artemis replied immediately. Make haste, please.

The servant curtsied and disappeared immediately. She returned a few minutes later and invited Artemis to follow her into the entrance hall. Drizzt was there, looking terribly worried. The servant went her way.

— Ar... Sadhara, are you all right? he stammered, seeing the assassin hasten towards him.

Artemis threw himself into his arms, pressing against him to whisper in his ear:

— Bellman is here. She sent someone to kill you. Where is Jarlaxle?

The assassin stepped back, scrutinizing the reaction of the young Drow. He noticed distractedly that he had not missed his mark when he had bit him on the lip.

— He will succeed in convincing the whole city that he is an authority on lichen wines from the Underdark. Rotgut, if you ask me.

Artemis groaned in exasperation.

— Can you learn more about Bellman's henchman? Drizzt asked in a low voice.

— I can try.

— Be careful, Drizzt said, immediately making a face.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. Was the young Drow regretting what he had just said?

— Well, you obviously know what you're doing, Drizzt added hastily.

The assassin crossed his arms over his chest, enjoying this moment of embarrassment.

— Oh, it's been a while since I had not crossed path with Drizzt Do'Urden in hisshining armor of defender of the weak and the helpless, he whispered with a cruel smile.

Drizzt pressed his fists over his eyes with a sigh.

— I'm worried about you, that's all, he grumbled.

— Because I am a woman? Artemis challenged.

The young Drow lowered his hands, staring at the assassin with sparkling violet eyes.

— ... No idea, he admitted.

The confession took Artemis by surprise. He cleared his throat and shook his dress to busy his hands.

— I’m going to get Jarlaxle, Drizzt announced to dispel the discomfort. Meet us here in fifteen minutes.

The assassin stepped forward, opened his mouth to say something but the Drow quickly said:

— And do not kiss me!

He ran past him like a draft, returning to the reception room.

Artemis held back his laugh and contemplated the possibilities. Fifteen minutes were not much. He returned to the parlor where no one had paid particular attention to his disappearance or his return. Bellman was talking to the hostess. They looked playful and mischievous, as if they were exchanging the latest gossip. Artemis slid closer, pretending to be interested in the food on the large plates. He listened. In the hubbub and laughter around him, it was difficult to hear exactly what the two women were talking about.

An older matron remained firmly in front of the canapés. She greeted Artemis with a nod, then addressed him with a conspiratorial air.

— Did you hear what Lady Bellman said? she whispered.

She was missing a few teeth, and her dull brown wig did not look good, but Artemis was all ears.

— No, I was out to… breathe some air, he replied.

— She’s in trouble with the law, revealed his interlocutor. It had to happen sooner or later. I'm sure she’s stealing jewelry and Lady Inguia assured me that she had affairs with several married men.

The assassin nodded, as if he shared these observations. The old woman seemed delighted to have found such an attentive listener.

— I heard her talking about a henchman when she arrived, Artemis whispered.

— Yes, the woman nodded, I have already seen him. He's a mage. Rather gifted from what I was told. I do not know if he has a debt to pay, if she blackmails him, if she pays him very well, or if they are lovers, she ended with a shrug.

Artemis had clenched his fists on hearing the word "mage". With a warrior, however skilled, Drizzt would not be in harm’s way. He certainly could defend himself. With a wizard, the deal had changed.

— It was a pleasure to converse with you, the assassin said with a smile that he hoped was convincing - and not too threatening.

He nodded to greet the old woman and hurried out of the room, using a new ballet of servants who came to clear the empty plates to return to the hall.

A very tall man with long dark hair stood there, his eyes alert, a magic wand between his long, thin fingers. Artemis did not believe in coincidences. This mage was Bellman's man. The assassin fell on one knee, as if to fasten a shoe, but actually unsheathed his dagger from underneath his gown and stood up, hiding the weapon in the folds of the fabric. The wizard did not pay attention to him.

— Is everything all right, sir? Artemis asked with a charming smile borrowed from Jarlaxle's repertoire.

— Very well, my lady, I have been told that a dangerous mercenary is prowling in this house, I want to make sure that he doesn’t harm anyone.

The man had prepared his lie well. He spoke confidently and raised his hand to reassure Artemis that he was there for security reasons.

— A criminal? the assassin asked, feigning fear.

— All will be well, do not worry. You should go back to where you came from, it would be safer.

Artemis nevertheless moved closer to him. A dagger well placed, and it would be over. His plan was interrupted by the arrival of Drizzt and Jarlaxle.

Everything went too fast.

Quick as lightning, the mage raised his hand when he saw the two dark elves. The powerful magic charge of his weapon flew through the air. Drizzt was going to be hit hard.

— No!

Artemis threw himself in front of the Drow, closing his eyes, preparing himself for the terrible impact of the deathly lightning, for the pain.

But nothing came.

He opened his eyes, met the stunned look of the mage who did not understand what had happened and why his magic had failed.

— Oh, I want this ring, Jarlaxle moaned as he pulled out one of his own wands of power.

Artemis let out a broken laugh. He had completely forgotten. The ring. The cursed item had saved his life ... and Drizzt's. But why had the assassin thrown himself in the way?

— This is the first time I see... Sadhara Do'Urden defending the weak and the helpless, Drizzt joked with a trembling voice.

Artemis let out a annoyed grunt and a strangled laugh all at once. He tightened his grip on his dagger. The mage was going to pay.

The fight that followed was very short. Jarlaxle used his wand and propelled a mass of sticky goo into the air that the wizard managed to dodge, but he found himself face-to-face with an enraged assassin. The vampire dagger bit him lightly in the jugular, a threat.

— Drop your wand, or bid farewell to your immortal soul, Artemis murmured in a venimous voice.

The mage obeyed.

 

Shortly after, Bellman and her wizard were apprehended inside the Mazkebis’ house to the delight of their guests. So much scandal in one night, everyone agreed that it was fantastic.

The three mercenaries apologized for the damage done to their host — and new employer — but he waved their excuses away. People would talk about him for days, even weeks, and a trader like him never refused free advertising.

He even offered to the beautiful Sadhara Do'Urden two bottles of his latest creation, an extraordinary spicy wine according to him. Artemis graciously accepted the present under the half amused, half jealous glances of Jarlaxle.

 

Back at the apartment, the three companions hesitated in the living room, not knowing how to conclude this strange evening.

— What if we drank to the first exploits of Sadhara Do'Urden? Jarlaxle offered.

— Excellent idea, Artemis sighed as he dropped into a chair.

He contemplated cutting his sleeves as they were annoying him, but simply gestured to Jarlaxle to take care of Mazkebi’s famous wine and dropped his head between his arms on the table.

Drizzt sat down beside him and put a hand on his arm to get his attention. Usually the assassin would have fled his contact, but the events of the evening might have softened him.

— Thank you, the young Drow said sincerely. This bolt of lightning could have killed me, or seriously hurt me.

Artemis nodded. A friendly silence settled in the room, disturbed only by the tinkling of glasses that Jarlaxle was getting out of a closet.

— You had forgotten the ring, Drizzt realized.

— No, Artemis lied calmly.

— I saw your face. You had your eyes closed. You had forgotten the ring and yet you protected me, why?

— I protect our investments, the Calishite retorted with anger.

— Why? Drizzt insisted.

The assassin pulled away from his contact with a brutal gesture, his face twisted in rage and confusion.

— I do not know! he cried out. What do you want to hear, you damn Drow? That I did not want to see you dead because of this stupid wizard?

The young Drow smiled serenely and all of Artemis's fury was suddenly whisked away by this reaction.

— I’m lucky to have a wife like you, the young Drow said, winking at Jarlaxle.

The other elf smiled softly. What was happening there was important. It was time that Artemis realized that he had started counting Drizzt among the people who were dear to him.

Three glasses were placed with authority on the table and emptied in silence. Entreri stubbornly kept a hostile scowl on his face.

— Do you want me to untie your braids, kitten? Jarlaxle asked after a moment.

— Kitten? Artemis picked up incredulously.

— I gave up on understanding, Drizzt told the assassin. Yes, with pleasure, he then said to Jarlaxle.

The mercenary rose and stood behind Drizzt, carefully undoing his work. He put the locks of hair back in their place and ran his fingers through the thick mane of the young elf to chase the tangles away. Artemis could not break away from the show. The two Drow seemed perfectly at ease with each other in a strangely intimate moment. Drizzt even had his eyes closed, enjoying being looked after in this way. Jarlaxle conjured a brush that he used to discipline Drizzt's hair with cautious gestures. Satisfied, he squeezed the young Drow's shoulder to indicate that he had finished.

Artemis turned away, biting his lip. Was he jealous? Embarrassed by the easy intimacy that the two elves seemed to share?

— I’m going to bed, Drizzt announced. If I understood correctly, we are trecking through the forest tomorrow. You should rest. Don’t do anything crazy.

Jarlaxle put his hand to his chest, as outraged by the accusation.

— We are innocent and pure creatures, kitten, how dare you say such things?

— The walls are thin, captain.

Artemis blushed a vivid red.


	9. Conversations

Drizzt took a deep breath. Fresh air rushed into his lungs, making him dizzy. He had not realized how much he missed the forest after all those months spent in the whirlwind of urban life.

They had walked all day in a dense bushy wood, following Master Mazkebi's instructions to find his cargo of wine. Their new employer had announced that the journey would take them two or three days. With a skilled ranger taking the lead to navigate this specific terrain, they would be much faster.

Nevertheless, night would fall quickly. It was now necessary to find a place to establish their camp. Drizzt chose a clearing in the middle of a grove of elms. He cleared the center, gathering the dead branches to build a fire, and used his scimitar to prune the tall grass. When he finished, he retraced his steps to find Jarlaxle and Artemis whom he had left behind earlier. He guided them to the campsite and the three mercenaries set to light the fire and install traps and alarm systems around the clearing.

As the night turned the forest around them into a strange landscape of eerie black pillars, they sat around the fire to share the meal prepared by the ranger in the early morning: a chicken stew with odorous aromatic herbs.

The assassin, finishing his bowl, shifted closer to the fire, rubbing his hands. The night was clear but cold. Seeing him shudder, Jarlaxle moved discreetly to his side, taking his hands in his. In the old days, Artemis would have rejected him, but now he was slowly accepting the attentions of the dark elf, the marks of affection. They exchanged a look and an almost shy smile.

Drizzt could not help but find the scene touching, but he hid his smile behind his canteen.

— Just kiss, you idiots, he grumbled to make fun of them.

A piece of bread flew in his direction. He grabbed it before the impact and bit ferociously into it. With that, he got up and announced that he was going to patrol the camp. It was a superfluous precaution, but it would give a little privacy to his two companions for a few minutes.

The mercenaries watched him as he walked away. Silence settled on the small camp, in the crackling of fire and the discreet cries of nocturnal birds. Jarlaxle came a little closer to Artemis who leaned against him without saying a word. They sat together, enjoying each other's presence. Mechanically, the Drow caressed the assassin's hand.

— Should we talk about the kiss that Drizzt and you shared? Jarlaxle asked with an impassive face.

Artemis groaned, head down.

— You bit him to the blood, poor thing, the Drow said in a chuckle.

— He deserved it, the assassin sneered.

— Sadhara Do'Urden is a woman of character!

They laughed together softly.

— It’s almost cruel to give a new wife to a widower, Jarlaxle mused aloud. That may have been his first kiss since Catti-Brie’s passing.

Artemis raised his eyebrows, surprised by the idea. He had never thought of Drizzt from that angle. Since they worked and lived together, the assassin had put aside the young elf's past, consciously forgetting the Companions of Mithril Hall. And Catti-Brie. The beloved wife Drizzt had lost.

A thought suddenly arose in the flow of memories.

— His magic figurine! The panther! he said. Does he have it still?

Jarlaxle nodded.

— He does not summon her in our presence. Not yet. He told me about it last night. He would like us to spend time with the big cat so that she gets used to us.

Artemis nodded, in spite of himself impressed by the trust that Drizzt kept giving them. Was he oblivious? Was he acting so in all his relationships? No, that was wrong. The young elf had been cautious, but his walls were gradually crumbling down, especially under Jarlaxle’s efforts.

— What is your goal with him? Artemis asked blankly.

Jarlaxle took off his hat for a moment to pass a hand over his head.

— Nothing precise for the moment. His name is valued on the coast and in the North, it can still be used.

— Jarlaxle.

A threat in that name. Artemis no longer accepted the Drow’s half-truths. Jarlaxle stirred under the scrutinizing gaze of the Calishite who was waiting patiently — for the moment — for the truth to be revealed.

A sigh.

— I did not lie, his name is precious. If we want to grow…, Jarlaxle began.

Artemis removed his hands with anger.

— It's not a "if", Jarlaxle, it’s a "when". And I doubt Drizzt would rejoice in being just a commercial brand for your future grand guild of mercenaries. Or assassins maybe? When you want to take murkier missions than the ones we have chosen so far, he will refuse. He will realize that you have used him, he will feel betrayed and leave. You may not care and take the ones loyal to you for mere pawns, but I can’t accept that. Congratulations. You made me care.

The memory of their separation, years before, fell on their shoulders like a coat of lead.

— I know you're hiding things from me, the assassin added somberly. It’s in your nature, you bask in masks and subterfuge. Part of it is a survival mechanism, I recognize it. But the other part is plain duplicity. Do not make the same mistakes again, Jarlaxle. You’ll lose him, and you’ll lose me, if that means something to you.

A moment of silence.

— I’m going to look for Drizzt, Artemis announced with a clipped tone. It would be a shame to misplace our ranger in the woods.

The assassin stood up, leaving the Drow to dark lonely truths.

 

Drizzt had settled on the edge of a small river quite close to the camp. It was hardly a stream, running between grey pebbles, like a flowing scar running over the skin of the forest. Artemis found him there, silent and motionless, his silhouette outlined in moonlight.

The panther was there, a black mountain of muscles and strength, lying on her side, sleeping with one eye open. When the assassin came closer, she raised her head and growled, her white fangs uncovered. Speak of the devil.

— Guen, I warned you, Drizzt scolded softly. It's Artemis. He will not hurt us.

The assassin inhaled deeply. He kept his hands away from his belt and weapons and slowly approached the Drow to sit next to him. The panther heaved a powerful sigh and pretended to calm down. Her very green eyes were focused on the Calishite. She would not leave him out of her sight.

— Don’t worry, she will not do anything to you, Drizzt said.

Artemis nodded slowly. Indeed, as long as her master was not threatened, the magical creature would obey his orders.

— I heard you and Jarlaxle talking, Drizzt said finally. The beginning anyway. I preferred to walk away.

The assassin wanted to explain but the young elf took him by surprise.

— I'm not as naive as I pretend to be. When Jarlaxle wanted me to join you, I suspected that it was not a free gesture, that he would use me for my name and reputation. I was just waiting to see where this could lead me, and I wanted to give you a chance. I found more than I could have imagined. I feel good with both of you, and I want to get more involved. To influence you.

— What do you mean?

— A mercenary is not necessarily a thief or an assassin. We could be _good_ sellswords, fighting for better causes, like what we’re doing now or what we did for Ankee. I will do my best to pull our association in this direction.

The young Drow gave him a wink. Then the elf realized that the assassin was shaking because of the cold. He unfastened his cloak and passed it on the shoulders of his companion, who tightened the cloth around him.

— And what about me? Artemis asked wearily. What am I? A fly stuck on the web woven by two spiders? Cursed be the one who thinks they understand the Drow...

Drizzt gave him a half-smile.

— You have the power to tip the scales.

 The elf realized that the assassin was really cold.

— Let’s go back to the fire, he said at once.

Artemis shook his head.

— Not yet. I really don’t want to see Jarlaxle's face right now.

Drizzt hesitated but took the risk of getting closer to the Calishite to keep him warm. Artemis grimaced but accepted the closeness, reluctantly huddling against his old nemesis.

— Here’s what I’m reduced to, he sighed.

Drizzt let out an exasperated but fond laugh.

— You’re the one not wanting to go back to the camp, he mocked.

The assassin shrugged. It was not so bad, he admitted in the secret of his thoughts. The young Drow was a firm and warm presence by his side, and Artemis was safe. This certainty was hard to accept, but he had to face the truth. He trusted Drizzt. The elf would not hurt him. He would even protect him if necessary. To be fully aware of that fact was overwhelming.

— How is it to be a woman? Drizzt asked after a moment.

Artemis shrugged uncertainly.

— Hard to say. Most of the time, nothing special. I can almost forget that I am not in my body. And then I realize that my movements do not have the same range, that I have a pair of breasts, that I am looked at in the street ... I can’t wait to be myself again.

Drizzt nodded.

— Will you keep the ring?

Artemis frowned. He kept asking himself the question.

— Yes, probably, he finally said. But I don’t know if I’m going to use it often. Maybe only in dire circonstances.

— The nobles of Waterdeep will wonder where my wife is hiding, Drizzt laughed.

— She’s cheating on you with another Drow, and the rest of the time she's disappearing mysteriously, Artemis replied. You got yourself a terrible marriage.

The two swordsmen laughed at the absurdity of the situation. After a while, the dark elf recalled his panther in her figurine. They remained on the edge of the little river for some time, before fatigue convinced them to return to the camp.

 

They left at dawn, while tendrils of mist snaked between the trees. The sounds of the forest were muffled and uncertain. Artemis, not yet reconciled with Jarlaxle, took the lead, choosing the role of scout. Left behind, the two Drow remained on their guard. They would soon be approaching the cache suspected by Master Mazkebi.

After a few hours of mostly silent walking, punctuated by the comings and goings of Artemis who informed them of the evolution of the terrain and possible precautions to take, Drizzt decided to pierce the blister.

— What are your plans for me, Jarlaxle? he asked blankly.

Jarlaxle’s steps faltered, unaccustomed to such frank maneuvers. He flashed a big smile.

— I plan for you… to grow and bloom by our side, kitten!

Drizzt grimaced. Getting a clear answer from a puppeteer like Jarlaxle would be difficult.

— I cannot demand that you reveal the plot of your intrigues to me, oh captain, but I ask you to listen carefully. There are things I will never do. I won’t become a murderer by trade, and I will _never_ return to Menzoberranzan.

Jarlaxle inhaled deeply. He did not answer.

— You have plans for Bregan D'aerthe on the surface, have you not? Drizzt insisted. Artemis and I are the commercial showcase of your guild, he and I will accept all kinds of missions and contracts, but there are things we won’t do. Kimmuriel, your men, those who still receive your orders in the Underdark, they are your real workforce. And you will always be loyal to them.

A threatening spark appeared in Jarlaxle's eyes.

— Is that a problem? he asked with a dangerous smile.

Drizzt shrugged. Who could prevent Jarlaxle from doing anything? More powerful beings than him had tried, and were not there anymore to tell the tale.

— The question is rather: what will Drizzt Do'Urden agree to ignore? Jarlaxle remarked after a moment.

The young Drow nodded. Here lay the real question. Was he ready to turn a blind eye to the activities of an entire Drow guild on the surface? What was his price to stay in the comfortable cocoon where he had been prospering for a few months? Could he stay with Jarlaxle knowing that he may be plotting questionable schemes?

— Time will tell, Drizzt chose to answer. In the meantime, my conditions are clear. No paid assassinations, no stay of any duration whatsoever in Menzoberranzan.

— I have known you with higher morals, Jarlaxle mocked.

— I was younger, more idealistic, more naive surely. If the gods keep on putting me on your path, and Artemis’, I may still have to learn from you.

Jarlaxle nodded. He held out his hand for the young Drow to shake, which he did, but not without thinking he was risking a part of his soul.

— Speaking of Artemis, Jarlaxle said, should I be concerned about your closeness these days?

Drizzt felt his heart miss a beat. He clenched his jaw.

— We spent decades trying to kill each other — sometimes achieving it. I finally feel like we can understand each other and build a... a friendship? Something anyway.

Drizzt let his hands continue his speech, in case the assassin was within earshot. Talking about such matters required complicated paraphrasing in the Drow language, but the young elf still tried:

— _You're so important to him. What you have, what you have built together, it is fragilebut... precious, and very beautiful. When I first met him he was Entreri, a killing machine, a construct without soul nor purpose. Thanks to you, he has become Artemis, an admirable man whose heart is less and less inaccessible._

— _You had a role to play, kitten, do not doubt it. And this role is not fulfilled yet. Artemis has made spectacular progress since you joined us._

— _He’d be angry if he knew we're talking about him that way._

— That’s true, Jarlaxle conceded. Let's talk about you, I feel like we live with a monk sometimes. When you're not with us, when you disappear from the apartment, what are you doing? Are you meeting a lover?

Drizzt shook his head, amused and relieved to have reached an agreement with the mercenary, even though the arrangement they had found was perhaps only temporary.

— I’m afraid not, the young elf said. I hang out on the harbor, I explore the city...

He stopped abruptly and motioned for his companion to stay still. There was movement not far from them in the groves. Like a shadow, Artemis joined them a few minutes later, telling them he had found the stolen cargo.

— _The thieves are still there_ , he motioned.

The three mercenaries took out their weapons, exchanged glances, and snuck into the thickets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are rays of sun <3


	10. We live dangerous lives

* * *

The bandits had advantageously chosen the location of their den. There, the forest opened in a rocky fault where it was easy to hide between gigantic spurs of granite. Drizzt counted out five thieves as they came and went. Two of them were cause for concern. The first was a small man with a thick red beard and a gnarled body who wore a sorcerer's robe; the second was a half-elf wielding a large two-handed sword. If she had chosen this difficult weapon, she probably knew how to use it. The thieves had the advantage of knowing the steep terrain, its nooks and hiding places.

Until this point, the three companions had remained hidden in the thick vegetation to plan their attack. Jarlaxle signaled that he was going to take care of the sentry watching the area from the top of an abrupt rock. Drizzt stopped him, showing his panther figurine.

— Guenwhyvar, he called out in a whisper.

A tell-tale smoke escaped from the ebony figurine, thickening and taking the shape of a formidable feline. Drizzt motioned to his faithful friend to create a diversion. The panther leaped out of the thickets and gave a loud roar as she rushed into the middle of the enemy encampment. The thieves cried in alarm, terrified by the animal.

Jarlaxle took advantage of the diversion to slip behind the sentinel's perch. Using levitation, he slipped behind the man without attracting his attention. The next moment, he lay on the ground, dead.

Drizzt and Artemis each chose a side to circle the camp. The young elf was progressing stealthily, trying not to be spotted. They could probably get rid of all the bandits, but the goal was not to take thoughtless risks. He skirted a cart where two horses were hitched together, whinying frightfully since the passage of Guenwhyvar. Using his ranger training, the Drow patted the horses flanks, calming their nervousness. He slipped between their legs and then behind several barrels of wine ready to be loaded on the cart. One of the thieves stood nearby, sword in hand, watching the panther as she was turning in the camp like an elusive black arrow.

Drizzt slipped behind him and knocked him down with a powerful blow on the back of his head. The horses moved again.

— Where is that damn cat? a woman's voice shouted nearby.

It must have been the half-elf. She was out of sight.

— Marco is dead, a man replied, and Gouldon soon will be.

— Let’s kill the bastards that keep us from doing our job!

Drizzt moved towards the voices. He spotted Jarlaxle on the rocky heights. They gestured at each other, moving in the same direction. Suddenly a magic lightning sprang up towards Jarlaxle who almost did not avoid it. The Drow retaliated with his electric wand but the magical charge dissipated against a powerful shield that shimmered in the air.

There was only one way to get rid of a wizard: close combat. Drizzt circled another pile of stones and found himself face to face with the woman and her impressive sword. She did not give him time to recover from the surprise and attacked him.

— Evil bastard of a Drow, she spat, swinging big circular blows that kept the ranger at bay.

Drizzt blocked the blows but could not sneak under his enemy’s guard. He hoped she would tire before he did.

Artemis had managed not to be spotted. He stood nearby, in ambush, waiting for the right moment to attack the wizard. He saw from the corner of his eye Drizzt defending himself patiently until his opponent left him an opening to trigger the tornado of his blades.

The assassin emerged from the shadows to strike. By the time his vampire dagger fell into his target’s back, the mage was able to cast one last spell on Jarlaxle. The Drow got trapped in a huge magical water-filled bubble. Artemis felt his eyes widen in horror. Jarlaxle was going to drown! He wanted to run towards him, but drawing on his last strengths, the wizard struggled. He summoned an ultimate bolt of lightning, but it disappeared in the second after its invocation, annihilated by Artemis’ ring. Desperate, dying, the mage held the assassin in an iron grip.

Drizzt saw the effect of the curse and redoubled his efforts. He finally managed to outspeed his opponent and kicked her on the shin. Unbalanced, she tried to back down but lost the pace. It was enough for Drizzt. His scimitars plunged forward, impaling the woman with a violence that surprised the young elf himself.

He did not even bother to clear his blades, running on the rock to rescue Jarlaxle. With the small dagger that he kept in his boot, he pierced the magic bubble. Hundred of liters of water poured out. Drizzt struggled against the force of the torrent and helf onto his unconscious companion. Squeezing the lithe body against his chest, he ran down the rock and laid the Drow on the wet grass.

Artemis had finally managed to get rid of the wizard. He stood still, watching the scene, a white noise deafening his ears. Without waiting, Drizzt vigorously pressed Jarlaxle's chest in rhythmic gestures. That was what he had been taught aboard Captain Deudermont's _Sea Sprite_ , years before. He breathed some air into the elf’s mouth and Jarlaxle finally jerked, spitting and vomiting water from the spell.

The Drow tried to get up but Drizzt dissuaded him, helping him sit down instead.

— Our... our first…, Jarlaxle gasped.

He caught his breath with an annoyed moan.

— I never pictured... our first kiss this way, Drizzt.

The young elf let out an exasperated growl. Jarlaxle coughed but laughed heartily.

Artemis moved closer to them, his complexion waxy, holding Drizzt's bloody scimitars. He had been paralyzed seeing the spell flying towards Jarlaxle and guilt was devouring him. He had been unable to help the Drow. What would his companions think? That he wanted to betray them and let them die? That he was incompetent and could not be trusted?

— I’m fine, Jarlaxle said with a big smile.

Artemis remained motionless, as if lost in a whirlwind of negative thoughts.

— Are you hurt? Drizzt asked to get him out of his lethargy.

The question had the desired effect. The assassin shook his head. He wiped the elf's blades in the grass and handed them to him in silence.

— How are we going to get Mazkebi’s cargo back to Waterdeep? Drizzt asked, sheathing his weapons and helping Jarlaxle get up.

— Our employer has provided us with a communication scroll and a magic beacon, Jarlaxle replied, still catching his breath. I’m going to tell him that we have secured his barrels and he will send us his men to get them back. We just have to stand watch until they arrive.

The elf was still a little shaky from his near-drowning.

— Let’s settle down, Drizzt said. I will call Guenwhyvar back, tie up the survivor and move the bodies away. Artemis, can you secure the campsite?

The assassin nodded grimly. Before he moved away, Jarlaxle took a few steps to hold him with one hand on his shoulder. The elf said nothing but looked into the Calishite’s eyes.

— I’m fine, he repeated at last.

Artemis nodded, a lump lodged at the back of his throat. He startled when the elf pulled him into the embrace of his arms.

— We can count on each other, Jarlaxle whispered to his ear.

The assassin wanted to protest, to scream at the elf that no, he had failed. Because of him, Jarlaxle had suffered an attack that could have been fatal.

— We live dangerous lives, Jarlaxle said firmly. At any time, we can be attacked, injured, or killed. Our strength lies in our alliance, our cooperation. We trust each other to be competent independently but also present for each others when the need arises.

Artemis struggled against the tightness in his throat.

— I’m glad Drizzt was able to intervene, he finally said.

— So am I! Jarlaxle sighed. And how happy I am that you stopped Bellman’s wizard that evening.

The elf pulled away to look at Artemis' face.

— It’s very new to me too, Jarlaxle admitted in a low voice. Giving my trust. Relying on someone other than me. It goes against everything I have ever done in my life.

The two mercenaries exchanged a long look.

— We must give away that trust, Jarlaxle concluded.

Artemis realized that the elf was also talking about revealing his plans and intrigues more easily. That dislodged the remains of anger he still felt about the Drow's manipulations. He allowed himself a half-smile.

— I’m counting on you, he said.

— I’m counting on you, Jarlaxle replied easily.


	11. The spider, the snake and the peacock

Thanks to the magic beacon, Mazkebi's men quickly arrived through a teleportation circle. The winemaker himself was present, positively delighted to recover his possessions, and perhaps a little too happy at the sight of a pile of corpses. Only one thief had survived, the one that Drizzt had knocked out. Mazkebi would undoubtedly question him later to understand how his convoy had been intercepted in the first place.

With his thick voice and a wriggling mustache, Mazkebi vigorously grasped Jarlaxle's hand.

— Master Bregan, I'm thrilled.

He handed him a purse of coins that disappeared swiftly.

— I have another mission for you, he added.

Jarlaxle's eyes shone.

— I'm listening.

Drizzt and Artemis moved closer, curious despite themselves.

— Rumor has it that you are also spies, the winemaker began. I would like you to attend a party where my wife is invited. I’m unable to go myself because I'm escorting a new convoy to Baldur’s Gate, you see. It’s a costume ball. In two days.

Jarlaxle nodded slowly. So far so good.

— I suspect my wife of... seeing someone.

Artemis snorted. Obviously.

— A rival, Mazkebi specified. Not a lover. We're at odds these days, and I'm afraid she might give my secret recipes to a competitor to get to me. She was seen near his factory.

The three mercenaries shared a look of surprise. It was unexpected. 

Jarlaxle, after negotiating their rates and charges, accepted the contract.

The journey back to Waterdeep went smoothly, in an easy and comfortable companionship. Drizzt had some regrets at leaving the open air so quickly to return to the noise and bustle of the city, especially since he could hardly summon Guenwhyvar in their apartment or in the streets.

They were glad to stay home for a while, after a necessary visit to Master Redlast to order adapted costumes for their next mission. To respect the time frame, it was decided that the tailor would modify existing outfits while his wife, a very young woman with beautiful red curls, would create fitting accessories. The mercenaries let the tailors work. Jarlaxle left his companions to discuss with his lieutenant Kimmuriel about current affairs in Menzoberranzan. He also needed to secure an invitation for the next day. Drizzt and Artemis took the opportunity to go to the roof and continue training the assassin in his new body.

 

The next day, by end of the afternoon, the three mercenaries went back to Master Redlast’s workshop. They discovered three straw mannequins presenting their costumes.

For Artemis, the tailor had used a corset and a long black skirt from the trousseau he had already made. The assassin recognized the lace that evoked cobwebs and understood where the whole thing was going. A pair of gloves had the same transparent patterns. A silk choker sported a silver-plated spider, paired with similar earrings.

— I’m really going to look like a Drow's wife, Artemis mumbled.

He looked with concern at the corset and its multiple laces. Mistress Redlast, in an unexpected show of authority, grabbed the clothes and Artemis andmarched to the back room. The assassin cast a pleading look over his shoulder but received no support from his companions.

The second model was Jarlaxle’s. From a long bronze tunic, Redlast had imagined a serpentine creature with golden reflections, adding patterns in sequins, like scales.

For Drizzt finally...

— Jarlaxle, the young elf said, I know your dream is to turn me into a peacock, but now... how to put it...

Only one huge tail was missing to complete the outfit. A feathered mask evoked the beautiful bird, ranging from dark blue to turquoise green. With harem pants reminiscent of Calimshan's traditional clothing, a sleeveless tunic would show off the ranger's arms.

— You will look fantastic, kitten, Jarlaxle rejoiced.

They took their costumes to change in their apartment. When it was time to leave, Artemis made his entrance. The Drow were silent at his appearance, a breathtaking vision. Mistress Redlast had, by some amazing feat, tamed Artemis’s hair into lovely lazy curls. Above all, she had applied makeup on his face, whitening his complexion and highlighting his grey eyes with a mysterious and hypnotising smoky effect.

— Stop drooling, the assassin sneered.

— _Khal'abbil_... what a look! Jarlaxle marveled. Drizzt, I’m going to steal your wife.

— As if that was not already the case, the young elf replied, laughing nervously.

Stunned by the dark beauty of the assassin, he remained behind, not knowing how to react to his confusion. However, he gathered the courage to take his "wife’s" arm while they walked down the streets to get to the address provided by Master Mazkebi. 

Artemis was the only person to have spoken with the winemaker’s wife. While they walked, he provided a description as detailed as possible of their target. He hardly knew what to think of the woman, having spent very little time in the same room, but he pointed out that she had seemed rather close to Lady Bellman. However, in these circles, a superficial friendship could disintegrate very quickly in contact with scandal.

— Won’t she suspect that we are there on her husband’s orders? Drizzt asked.

— It is a risk indeed, Jarlaxle agreed, but we have a cover. I got ourselves a list of guests. Blackstaff will be here tonight. So far, he has not granted me the requested hearing, so I will make sure that people think we are there to see him.

— I foresee agrand and loud restitution of his pendant, Artemis sighed.

— Absolutely! Jarlaxle confirmed. We will remain in Blackstaff's orbit and keep an eye on dear Mistress Mazkebi.

The mansion where the costume ball was being held was packed. A multicolored crowd swarmed into it in a deluge of frills, glittering fabrics and hypocritical laughter. Artemis was nauseated. Annoyed by the multitude around him, he pressed himself against Drizzt so as not to lose him in the hustle and bustle. They managed to leave the big hall where the majority of the guests surged. They then agreed to separate to spot their two targets: Blackstaff and Mistress Mazkebi.

Artemis decided to try his luck on the first floor. He kept on meeting glances as he walked. It took him a little while to understand. The men saw in him a beautiful attractive woman, but with a dangerous face. The women recognized a threatening austere rival. He attracted too much attention. Trying to relax, he unclenched his muscles and eased his scowl. Moments later, a grey-haired moon elf with almond-shaped eyes approached him, grabbing his elbow. Artemis had to restrain himself from punching him.

— What a magnificent creature, the elf whispered, following the curve of his corset.

Artemis glared at him.

— Oh my! What a character! Who is the lovely lady? he said again.

— You ask me my name but do not give yours, the assassin answered to gain some time.

— Indeed! Elaith Craulnober, at your service. And what will I call you? The sand spider? The grey-eyed tarentula?

Artemis narrowed his eyes. Craulnober. He recognized that name. He had seen it in Bellman's papers. He smirked, as if the silly humor amused him.

— Sadhara, he replied.

— That's all ?

— For the time being.

The moon elf laughed heartily.

— I’m looking for Mistress Mazkebi, Artemis tried to escape the situation. The winemaker’s wife. Maybe you can help me?

— She's not far, may I escort you?

The assassin nodded, taking his unexpected informant’s arm. He hated Craulnober's contact, daydreaming about thrusting a dagger between his ribs. The fact that the man kept eyeing him from head to toe with a greedy look did not help. More than ever, Artemis wished his body back. Undergoing this horrifying attempt at seduction was a nightmare. A part of him whispered that, had he stayed with Drizzt or Jarlaxle, he would not have been accosted in this way. The idea was depressing.

They entered a new room with green tapestries where a small group of powdered ladies played cards. Artemis hid a smile of satisfaction. Mistress Mazkebi was there, with her excruciatingly thin figure and her big petticoats. The woman recognized him and a big relieved smile appeared on her face, as if she were... happy to see him?

— I shall leave you here, Sadhara, my beautiful spider, Craulnober whispered in his ear. May we meet again, very soon.

The assassin repressed a shiver of disgust. The man’s hot breath down his neck was repugnant. He did his best to reply with a coy smile but had no idea of the result. The elf finished his atrocious number by kissing his hand and then disappearing. More than ever, Artemis contemplated the idea of leaving, returning to the apartment and locking himself in his room until the end of the spell.

He pulled himself together. He had a mission and his target had recognized him. He sat down next to her as she greeted him vigorously.

— Mistress Do'Urden, is that it? she asked. I thought I recognized you. You and your… dark elf friends got Bellman arrested at my house the other night, did you not?

Artemis nodded. A big smile blossomed on the woman’s bony face.

— Good riddance, in the end. Anyway. I do not know how to formulate my request, but ... I need your help, she implored.

The assassin felt his eyebrows jump up his forehead. Was she going to ask his assistance in selling her husband’s secrets? She got up, dragging Artemis after her into a small alcove in one corner of the room. She took his hands with shining eyes.

— My husband and I ... well, you know how it is. All couples have ups and downs. I imagine that, for that matter, a human and a Drow are not so different.

Artemis wanted to laugh. If only she knew! Indeed, his relationship with Drizzt had had ups and downs. Deadly chases from one end of the realms to another, legendary duels, alliances, betrayals... But for some months things had changed, it was the least one could say. He nodded, seeing that the woman was waiting for an answer.

— I knew it! she said, reassured. See, my husband doubts my loyalty. I want to prove to him that I can contribute, that I am not just good at organizing receptions. I want to offer him what he has been dreaming of for months! The recipe of an extraordinary liquor produced by a competitor.

Artemis did not believe his ears. Now their mission lost all meaning. Should he explain to the poor woman that her husband was paying him and his associates to spy on her? He had to react quickly. What was the best solution?

What would Jarlaxle do?

He would choose profit, the Calishite realized. He would accept both missions.

— What are you asking? he said in a low voice.

— If I give you the address of the person, can you…?

Her voice died. She was too impressed by the enormity of what she was suggesting.

— Yes, we can steal the recipe, Artemis completed.

— I will pay you! Fifteen hundred coins of gold! she whispered feverishly.

It was more than what the husband was paying for his spying mission. Artemis smiled softly.

— With pleasure, Mistress Mazkebi, he said with a curtsy.

— Please call me Thelie, the woman said pleasantly.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink as she seemed particularly excited by the exchange. Concluding the transaction, she squeezed Artemis' hand tightly and saluted him with a satisfied nod. The assassin found in his hand a note left by his new employer. An address was scrawled on it. He now had to warn Jarlaxle and Drizzt of the new turn of events.

 

Artemis found the two Drow in a boudoir mostly occupied by older men, notebooks in hand. This was a place of business concluded in whisperings. Drizzt was sitting on an embroidered couch next to a young woman who laughed loudly as soon as he opened his mouth. The assassin hated her instantly and even caressed the idea of cutting her fingers. Then he wondered when he had become so territorial with the people he had begun to call "his" Drow in the secret of his thoughts.

Jarlaxle slipped to his side, a sulky pout on his face.

— Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun will not come, he sighed. Or he's already gone. Will I ever get my hands on this annoying wizard?

— Time will tell, Artemis said absent-mindedly, still surveying Drizzt on the couch.

Jarlaxle followed his gaze, smiled secretly and grabbed two glasses of wine from the hands of a servant. He handed one to the assassin.

— Have you been luckier than us, my dear? he wondered.

Artemis nodded, finally turning to look into Jarlaxle's eyes.

— Thelie Mazkebi has just hired us to steal a secret recipe from her husband's main competitor. She wants to prove to him her usefulness in their marriage.

As he talked, a big smile appeared on the Drow's face. He burst out laughing and raised his glass.

— To the Mazkebis, Jarlaxle cheered.

Artemis raised his glass in turn and emptied part of it. In spite of himself, his gaze returned to Drizzt. The annoying woman had left him and he was now drinking in the company of a priest. From afar, the assassin thought he recognized the emblem of Mielikki, the protector of forests and animals, and the goddess the young elf followed.

— Drizzt is splendid tonight, is he not? Jarlaxle asked with amusement.

Artemis frowned but had to face the obvious. Jarlaxle was right. The young elf’s figure was particularly highlighted by the colors and the cut of his costume. The sleeveless tunic revealed the fine, well-defined muscles of his arms. His white hair held in a large braid between his shoulders flattered the elegant angles of his face. Artemis frowned again. Had he always looked at men like this? Was it his female body that sent him troubling messages about his desires? No, that was wrong. Artemis reminded himself of Elaith Craulnober, the moon elf, whom others would no doubt call a striking man. The memory only annoyed him. No, it was not men. Dark elves then? Artemis thought of Kimmuriel, handsome according to the criteria of his race, and conceived only a dull and familiar hatred.

Only Jarlaxle... and Drizzt it seemed. Artemis hated himself. Why? Why was it happening to him? He finished his wine with an angry swallow. He put his glass on the first tray at hand and grabbed a second he began emptying the same way. He noticed that Jarlaxle was also stealthily contemplating the young elf. He felt something cold in him, as if an icy hand had seized his lungs.

— Yes, he is splendid, the Drow mused.

Jarlaxle then turned to Artemis, contemplating the beautiful face beneath the scowl, and noticed an uncertain brightness in his steely eyes. His breath faltered as he felt that a bad word could drive the human away, irrevocably perhaps.

— I'm like you _khal'abbil_ , I appreciate beauty, he said. His innocence attracts us, provokes us almost. I want to corrupt him, to change our kitten into a predator worthy of us.

He left that train of thoughts and took one of Artemis' hands in his.

— I can’t wait to see Artemis Entreri again, he finally said in a sultry voice. To hear him talk. To sleep by his side. To touch his skin. To kiss him.

Artemis looked down at his and Jarlaxle's hands. The hand of a woman, delicate and fine, adorned with a ring — a wounding reminder.

— Don’t you prefer Sadhara? he murmured with a bitterness full of sadness. Won’t you miss what I ... what she is able to share with you?

— We will share it when the time comes, _khal'abbil_ , but it will only be one aspect, however pleasant, of what already exists between us. Do not doubt me. Do not doubt us.

These passionate words caught Artemis’ breath. He plunged his gaze into the carmine eyes of the elf at his side. They never exchanged such words, which made them even more powerful, even more upsetting. He felt his cheeks burn like two searing fires on his face. The cold hold in his chest had melted like snow in the sun.

— Drizzt may also be relieved to see a more familiar version of you, Jarlaxle laughed.

Artemis raised a questioning eyebrow.

— You confuse him in this form, _khal'abbil_. He never ceases to admire you when you’re not looking. What will he do with this attraction when you get your body back?

On this mysterious question, and a promise according to him, Jarlaxle took Artemis' arm and dragged him to the food platters.


	12. Layers of chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank again the lovely readers who take time to comment, it's always a surprise for me and a delight. <3

Artemis jumped onto the next roof and felt the tiles under his feet vibrate with the impact in an almost metallic ring. He crouched and waited. The wind blew furiously around him, ruffling his hair and making his cloak look like a sail in the air. A storm was approaching. The sky was filled with thick clouds that plunged the city into darkness, to the assassin’s professional satisfaction.

He walked to the edge of the roof and watched the alley below. Not a soul. In the middle of the night, this part of the harbor district was deserted. There was animation on the waterfront but not in the little streets with little or no light. Artemis chose a chimney and wrapped the grappling hook he had _borrowed_ from Drizzt around. He then slowly slid down the wall. When he reached the window he had spotted that very morning, he slipped a thin little blade between the two panels and managed to lift the latch. The window opened with a creak.

Artemis slipped inside and waited, motionless. No noise. He was in.

 

_Hands clasped behind his back, his chin raised, his body draped in a long black gown with spidery patterns, Kimmuriel was the very image of contempt. He looked down on the three mercenaries in front of him. His boss, an outcast, and a filthy human._

_— Captain, I bring the plans you asked for, he drawled. May I return to more… interesting activities?_

_Jarlaxle unrolled the parchment brought by the mage onto the living room table. The sketches were partly incomplete, but there was enough information for the robbery planned that very night._

_Kimmuriel was shuffling. His carmine gaze landed on Drizzt and then on Entreri to stop, impassive. The assassin returned his glance, frowning. Kimmuriel always managed to slip an insult against him when they were forced to work together._

_— How many days left? the elegant Drow asked flatly._

_— A few hours, if you have not lied, Entreri answered with a voice he hoped would be firm._

_— That is what I managed to conclude from my examination of the ring, indeed. But magic is a subtle and capricious art, something even an_ iblith _should understand._

_Jarlaxle glared at his lieutenant. The term was not flattering, everyone in the room knew it. Kimmuriel took a step back, feeling a dangerous animosity rise in his audience. He wanted to stand his ground, but when Jarlaxle straightened completely from his examination of the map, the mage lowered his eyes._

_With a quick gesture, Jarlaxle dismissed him. The wizard left again through his teleportation circle, loosing his gait when his captain warned him that they would talk about it again soon._

 

Capricious magic indeed. Artemis had not recovered his body yet. He had convinced himself that it would happen from one moment to the next and he just needed to be ready. He had refused to idly wait in the apartment and had memorized the blueprints. He would take care of the robbery himself, being the most qualified. Staying busy while waiting for the fateful metamorphosis was the best solution. His only concession was the presence of Drizzt on a nearby roof, ready to intervene in case of mayhem — or if Entreri took too long to get in and out.

The assassin focused. If Kimmuriel had worked well, he should be in a room where the bottling equipment was stored. With one look, he confirmed the information. Worktables were lined up against the walls with boxes of parchment strips and goose feathers here and there. There were even ink stains on the walls.

He found the door unlocked and, after a quick glance, he turned left into the hallway toward the owner's office. Voices alerted him of the presence of at least two guards on the lower floor. Better to act quickly.

The next door was securely closed. No less than three complex locks blocked the entrance. Artemis swore between his teeth. Forcing such locks would take time. He needed the keys.

The assassin turned back and found the stairs. Light below. He could hear two men talking. Artemis leaned against the wall of the landing, grabbed a cork from the floor and threw it against the window pane.

The voices fell silent.

— Who's there? a gruff and threatening voice called out.

— I’ll check, a second person answered.

Steps on the stairs. Heavy, determined. Artemis made a quick mental calculation and equipped his small crossbow. When the guard reached the landing, he felt a sting hit his neck, then a second. He grunted, took a few steps without seeing the figure hidden in the shadow behind him. Then he fell like a tree being brought down.

The second guard rushed into the stairs. Entreri was waiting for him. He wanted to equip a new dart but the crossbow’s rope broke, rendering his weapon unusable. He cursed his bad luck and was about to throw the dart himself but could not make it.

The guard was already on him, but Artemis was not an excellent warrior for nothing. He could adapt. He unsheathed his sword and dagger and was able to counter the mighty rapier that fell on him. Thanks to the training hours with Drizzt, the assassin knew how to fight against this much heavier opponent. He just needed to pick up the pace. The guard could not comprehend what was happening to him. He faced a tornado of blades that forced him to step back. And stumble on the unconscious body on the floor.

It was all Artemis Entreri needed. 

The next moment, the guard was dead.

The assassin searched the pockets of his victims and found a massive keychain. He rushed to test the three locks of the office, managed to open them and decided to abandon any attempt at subtlety. The guards’ next shift could start at any time and the Calishite did not intend to fight again. And what if the enchantment of the ring stopped suddenly, leaving him unconscious and vulnerable on the very spot of his theft?

He jostled all the furniture, pulled out all the drawers, frantically searching for what looked like a recipe. He knocked over a dresser and discovered a built-in chest in the wall.

— There you are, he rejoiced.

He pressed his ear against the cold metal and, using his tools, fiddled with the bolt until the parts moved enough to force the mechanism. The chest opened noiselessly. Inside were gold coins, a fifty-year-old bottle and a thick envelope containing lists of ingredients and numbers in coded language.

Artemis transferred everything into his bag and rushed to the window to get back to the roof. He gripped the grappling hook’s rope, his heart beating wildly. Noise rose from the ground floor. He could not wait anymore. As he began the climb, the assassin saw his vision blur. A sizzling and grave noise filled his ears.

— No, he moaned in horror.

He was almost there.

He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth could break, forcing his muscles as they disobeyed for good. He was going to fall. He was…

A powerful grip caught his forearm and his whole body was brutally hoisted to the roof as he struggled to stay awake.

— I've got you! a familiar voice reassured him.

He closed his eyes and lost consciousness.

 

He woke up against a chimney, feeling hard and sharp shingles beneath him, just covered with a fur collar cloak. Drizzt's.

The dark elf was kneeling beside him, watching their surroundings, as motionless as a gargoyle.

Artemis made a quick review of his situation. He had his own body back. He was safe and sound. The bag containing the stolen objects lay at his feet.

— Why am I naked? he growled.

His voice caught Drizzt’s attention. The Drow turned his head toward him and a guilty grimace appeared on his angular features.

— Your female clothes did not appreciate the transformation, he explained. Here.

The elf handed him a pack of clean clothes. His normal ones. Artemis would never have thought to be so happy to see them. He dressed quickly as Drizzt turned away, continuing to watch the rooftops around them.

— Where are we? Artemis whispered.

— Not far from the warehouse. I could not carry you alone to our place, I just made sure to get away. Guards have passed near us once or twice, but they are continuing the search on the ground I think. As soon as you are able to stand, we will scarper away.

A light rain began to fall around them, a light drumming on the tiles. Artemis finally allowed himself to heave a sigh of relief. The nightmare had ended. He was free from the enchantment.

— Your ring, Drizzt said, holding out the magic item. I took it away, not knowing when the spell might restart.

— Good call, Artemis replied, putting the ring in one of his pockets.

Without thinking too much, he grabbed the ranger's wrist, anchoring his grey eyes in the elf's. His violet eyes shone in the darkness. Raindrops were gathering in his white mane. They were very close.

— Thank you, Artemis murmured.

Drizzt had saved his life.

— You’re welcome, the elf answered softly. I know you would have done the same.

They exchanged a smile. Drizzt blinked, cleared his throat and turned his head, fidgeting. Artemis frowned, questioning. The elf coughed under the intensity of the assassin’s gaze. He looked up to the skies, pleading for help, then licked his lips uncertainly.

— I... When you were a woman, I... I could not help but notice... that you were attractive. And now that you've become a man again, I cannot help but notice exactly the same thing.

A silence. The indistinct song of the rain on the tiles. Cries in the distance in the harbor. Artemis could have been a statue.

— I’m sorry, Drizzt stammered hurriedly. I... will not talk about it anymore. Forget what I said.

He wanted to get up but the hand on his wrist tightened his grip, preventing him from running away. He had to sit down to fight the unbalance. 

Artemis watched Drizzt’s face carefully. Embarrassment was engraved in his features, as well as uncertainty, and a form of fear. Like a cornered animal. The assassin was still holding the elf's wrist. He felt the frantic pulse under his fingers and the soft, warm skin. With his other hand, he pulled Drizzt's face toward him, met no resistance, and kissed his lips softly.

His senses saturated. He smelled a strange mixture of rain, lush grass and animal musk. He deepened the kiss, electrified by the ephemeral contact of a shy tongue. They pulled apart. Artemis then had a striking vision: Drizzt, intoxicated, eyes veiled, out of breath. He then felt only one desire: to provoke again and again this spectacle of abandonment and desire. He abruptly remembered what Jarlaxle had said about innocence and corruption.

— You... just added a layer of chaos to my confusion, Drizzt whispered, closing his eyes.

— You reap what you sow, Artemis replied.

Drizzt shook his head. He stubbornly refused to look at the assassin for fear of losing another part of his soul. What was happening to him?

— What is going on? he asked in a plaintive voice.

He put his head in his hands, stifled a groan, and stood up abruptly. He took one last look at the man at his feet, a look full of guilt and confusion, then fled, disappearing into the night.

Artemis did not hold him back. He shuddered under the onslaught of wind and rain.

— Something Jarlaxle knew was coming, he realized.


	13. Another conversation

The door slammed behind Artemis.

— I kissed Drizzt, he blurted in a groan.

What came out of his lips must have been unintelligible, for Jarlaxle only had a questioning look.

— I kissed Drizzt, he repeated more slowly.

Two white eyebrows rose on the Drow’s face. The beginning of a smile appeared.

— He ran away, Artemis went on.

He felt ridiculous, standing there, a puddle of murky water forming around his feet, his clothes soggy. Jarlaxle approached him and put his hands on his cheeks.

— Welcome back, Artemis, he murmured with a softness in his eyes.

The assassin realized that yes, it was true, he had his body back. He allowed himself a long sigh for the second time that evening. He felt his upper body, his face, his shoulders, his arms, relax as if freed from a leaden weight. The next moment, Jarlaxle clung to him, ignoring the fact that he too would be soaked. Artemis naturally accepted the embrace, hugging the dark elf more tightly than necessary. The ugly purple hat obscured his vision.

— You’re going to get wet, he growled.

— Worth it, Jarlaxle retorted, tucked close to his neck.

They remained so for some time before separating.

— You don’t seem surprised about Drizzt, Artemis noticed. You knew it would happen.

The Drow shook his head slightly. The big feather on his hat bounced somewhat merrily.

— I was hoping it would, he corrected. For him, to bring him out of his mourning, of the sadness which weighs down his steps; for you, because his presence is good for you. For me, because his presence is good for me too.

— Do you love him? Artemis asked with the frozen fear of abandonment clutching his heart.

Jarlaxle helped him out of his cloak — Drizzt's actually — and took his hand to guide him to an armchair. They sat next to each other.

— I don’t know what that word means, Jarlaxle said with more bitterness and desolation than he would have liked to show. The concept doesn’t exist in Drow society. The closest I can think of is the pleasure that can be felt in sharing the company of a... comrade, someone one may be reluctant to betray.

He then was silent, immersed in his memories, in his cruel and violent past. He swallowed and continued:

— With you, the horizon has widened. It took me time — so much time — to realize that you were different. The pleasure of your company has turned into affection, tenderness, desire, joy... and then into a need to give back all that you gave me. The words are so foreign to me. I hope that my actions lately reflect what I am trying to tell you.

Artemis changed Jarlaxle's grip on his hand so that their fingers intertwined. He squeezed briefly, head bowed, silent.

— I'm ready to be vulnerable with you, Jarlaxle concluded. To leave my masks behind — a few of them at least. I do make mistakes, I'll make and invent new ones, but it's a path I want to tread, because it allows me to walk by your side.

His voice was calm and clear, but his eyes shone with unquenchable fire. He smiled softly, head bowed.

— Drizzt... Drizzt is a beacon in the night. His kindness, his innocence, the perpetual vulnerability he has chosen and that he waves around like a banner, all of this gave me the courage to question my own feelings these last weeks. I’m learning to accept them, to go to you. So I feel a lot of tenderness for him, I want him to be happy and, selfishly, I think we can do that for him.

Artemis had the impression of standing before an immense wave that was going to swallow him whole, drowning him in something much bigger than himself. His heart was overflowing within his chest. He had to say something. Once again, he had the impression of digging deep within himself. This time, that terrible place in his heart did not feel so cold, so sterile.

— I... I was broken for so long, he said. You’re making me whole again. Even if you uncover all my faults, all the horrors that lurk inside of me, you’re becoming my greatest weakness and you’re making me stronger. I wish I could one day return the favor. I want to be with you.

There had been no certainty in Artemis Entreri’s life, except death. He was realizing that he could decide that Jarlaxle could be another.

He squeezed his hand again. Jarlaxle left his chair to sit on Artemis' lap and kissed him with infinite tenderness. Artemis felt a burning fire seize his loins, his chest, his head. One question remained. Another level of chaos in the confusion of feelings.

— As for Drizzt, he sighed, I don’t know yet. We have been enemies for so long... You are right, he carries a light in him. Something that attracts me.

Artemis paused. 

He sighed.

— You’ve been taught well, Drizzt. How long have you been there?

Shuffling feet. The ranger appeared out of the shadows. He had probably sneaked through the window in the attic.

— Long enough, the elf replied meekly.

— Come here,  Artemis said in a voice that would not suffer any reply.

In another life, he would have been mortified to be surprised this way, his lover on his lap, but now he could not care less.

With uncertain steps, the Drow obeyed him. His gaze was turned inward, to the whirlwind of questions that were paralyzing him.

— What’s on your mind, kitten? Jarlaxle asked softly.

Drizzt inhaled briefly. Head down, his thick hair tangled, he resembled a wild animal more than ever.

— Catti-Brie is, he answered. What would she say about all this? I’m trying to make sense of the person I was, of the person I thought I was, and of the one you are talking about. I’m trying to understand these last months, these last days and what it means to be happy.

Jarlaxle and Artemis exchanged glances. The older Drow got up and approached Drizzt, grabbing his shoulders with a kind firmness.

— If there's one lesson Artemis and I can give you — only one, it’s that you choose who you are. I did not think I would have to remind Drizzt Do’Urden of all people of something so obvious, as he has spent his life confronting prejudices, those of his race and those of the surface, to lead his life as he saw fit.

This tirade seemed to revive the ranger who nodded. He let out an exasperated laugh when Jarlaxle kissed him on the cheek, but fell silent when the mercenary’s hand came to caress his cheekbone and neck. He flushed, tense as a bowstring. Then Jarlaxle went away, a playful spark in his eyes.

— The choice is yours, kitten.

— "Come taste the delights of Waterdeep"? the young Drow quoted.

He felt like it had been years since he had surprised Jarlaxle and Entreri sharing the same bed, innocently at the time. Artemis' voice tore at his thoughts:

— I don’t regret that kiss, Drizzt. But the next steps are yours to take. Will you stay with us or will you leave?

Drizzt’s heart was on the edge of his lips. His head was spinning but a certainty overwhelmed him with all its weight. He would suffer greatly if he had to part ways with the mercenaries. It meant leaving the apartment, Waterdeep... and tearing his heart apart. No, whether he liked it or not, he belonged there and could not imagine being anywhere else.

He sat down in an armchair, his shoulders straight.

Jarlaxle applauded with a laugh, a radiant smile on his lips. Artemis wore an unusual expression, calm and maybe tinted with hope.

— The rest will come in due time, Jarlaxle predicted. I think we had enough agitation for the night, let's go to bed. Tomorrow we conclude our missions for the Mazkebis. After that, everything is possible.

— For you, oh captain, conquering Waterdeep? Entreri teased.

— For you, oh my shady assassin, unlocking the powers of Ankee’s ring? Jarlaxle retorted with a gleam of challenge in his eyes.

— Getting an audience with Blackstaff? Defeating me while wearing a skirt? Drizzt asked with fake candor. Seducing me properly?

— Oh oh! Artemis smirked. The kitten has claws!

— Meow, Jarlaxle purred.

Drizzt gave them his sharpest smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the end! Thank you for reaching this point. You're always welcome to leave a comment and/or kuddos.  
> I might add oneshots and small pieces to the series, but nothing is written yet. We'll see if inspiration strikes.  
> I do hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. See ya!


End file.
